


Knock, knock.

by RainStained (youraveragemushroom)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (they're like two or three years away), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuban!Lance, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Implied Shiro/Allura - Freeform, Korean!Keith, M/M, Pining!Keith, Underage Drinking, adopted!keith, anyone who remembers beezeer gets a free virtual metaphysical drink from Keith, broganes, everyone else is doing their own thing i guess, everyone's a little older but they still have basically the same age gaps?, i'll tag as the story progresses too, if that makes sense?, indian!nyma, lemme know if i should tag anything else?, lemme know if you want me to tag every single character (even if they're not important), minor rolo/keith (someone's gotta crush~), oblivious!lance, orphan!Keith, pidge is 16 in this, pidge is in high school, well only lance and hunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youraveragemushroom/pseuds/RainStained
Summary: “Are you harassing my new roommate, Lance?” Nyma cut in, stopping next to the two boys.“I wouldn’t call it harassment, babe,” Lance replied cooly. “More like a warm welcome, you know?”“The only thing warm is the sun’s scorching heat,” Keith replied in his usual haughty tone. “Who the fuck are you?”“Lance McClain, rude-boy. And who do I have the displeasure of making an acquaintanceship with?”“Keith. Keith Kogane. And the fucking pleasure’s all mine, unfortunately.”Well, attempt to introduce, Keith amended in his head.





	1. Sweltering Heat Makes for a Bad First Impression

Keith hated the sun. He hated it especially on moving days, which that specific day happened to be.

    Moving out wasn’t too much of a hassle, given the fact that he didn’t own many personal possessions. Shiro took most of whatever they shared, anyway. It’s not like Keith needed kitchen appliances or throw pillows; Nyma had plenty of both, and was more than willing to share with her new roomie.

    Roomie.

    Keith wrinkled his nose at the thought of living with someone new. It had been him and Shiro (and, for the most part, Matt) for as long as Keith wanted to remember. It had been his first real home.

    Shiro caught his brother’s distasteful expression out of the corner of his eye.

    “Hey,” he calling Keith out of his stupor. “You sure you’re alright with the move?”

    Keith, folded awkwardly in the passenger seat of his older brother’s rusty truck, sighed at his brother’s hovering.

    “Shiro, I’ve told you a billion times,” Keith started, sending his brother _the_ _look_ , “I don’t mind moving in with Nyma. It’s not like she’s a random person I found on craigslist; we’ve known each other for forever.”

    “I know, I know,” Shiro sighed. “But I can feel your discomfort from all the way over here, lil bro. If you aren’t a hundred percent sure about thi--”

    “Oh my god, Shiro! It’s fine! I’m just a little warm, that’s all. Besides, Allura’s been looking for you to move in with her for months. I’m not gonna stand in the way of you guys,” Keith said, muttering the last part in case his brother discovered he was emotionally competent.

    At the mention of his girlfriend’s name the older boy smiled widely, a light splash of color rising beneath the scar on his nose.

    Allura and Shiro had been dating for almost three years. They worked at the same coffee shop, owned by Allura’s uncle, for two months before Allura finally got sick of seeing Shiro splutter every time he attempted to ask her out. Two failed dates later (zoos and libraries are not good places to go on dates), they both knew that whatever they were, it was permanent.

    About two months ago, Allura had called Keith to ask him about asking Shiro to move in with her. Keith was shocked to say the least, blanking out for at least a minute before realizing Allura had cut the call and attempted to call back. Sure, he and Allura had met more than a couple of times--and yes, he could admit that she totally deserved his brother--but he didn’t even know she had his number (she stole it from Shiro’s phone when he wasn’t looking).

    It was after that phone call that he realized that things were about to drastically change.

    Fast forward two months after a surprise proposal via key by Allura, the Broganes were headed to the apartment building where, coincidentally, they both would live in.

    “I still can’t believe that Nyma found an apartment in the same building as Allura’s!” Shiro chuckled. “Guess that means we’re still sort of roomies, huh broski?”

    Keith scowled at his brother’s choice of term of endearment. “One, stop calling me broski--it doesn’t suit you, or me. Two, the landlord owed Rolo a favor--which, by the way, I still don’t understand why he would cash on me and Nyma. And three, just because we live in the same building again doesn’t mean you get to butt into my life and mother me to death like you have the past thirteen years.”

    Shiro rolled his eyes. “Shut up, nerd. I didn’t mother you to be a pain in my ass.”

    “No, I just developed to this superior state on my own.”

    “Whatever helps you sleep at night, broski.”

    “Shiro, no!”

    Before Keith could slap his brother for being an annoying turd, the car stopped in the middle of an apartment complex, in front of a staircase leading to what he assumed was his and Nyma’s shared apartment. There was a door on both sides of the staircase, meaning that Keith might have more than just a new roommate to worry about.

     _Speak of the devil,_ Keith thought, as his new roomie threw open the door on the left and bounded down the stairs with a gusto that should not have possible given the scorching, end-of-summer heat.

    As soon as she reached the passenger-seat door of Shiro’s truck, Keith found himself being bodily dragged out and into Nyma’s unbearably warm embrace.

    “Long time no see, roomie!” the tan girl giggled, pushing Keith to an arms length to survey his appearance. “You got taller since I last saw you, asswipe! Where have you been the last two months?”

    “Avoiding you, bitchwad,” Keith replied effortlessly, an easy smile replacing his permanent frown. “I’ve been busy packing. Sorry I haven’t Skyped you in so long.”

    “Nah, it’s chill.” Nyma shoved him lightly, before folding her arms loosely across her chest and letting her smirk grow. “I’ll have you all to myself for the unseeable future, so you can spend that time grovelling.”

    “Good luck with that,” Shiro butted in. “That emo loser is infamous for getting out of trouble--right after landing in it, that is.”

    “Shiro!” Nyma exclaimed, running over to where he had just gotten out of the car.

    After tackling another person with a hug, Nyma joined the brothers at the bed of truck to help unload.

    “So is this all of Keith’s stuff?” Nyma asked Shiro, picking up the box labelled pillows.

    Grabbing a box labelled ‘clothes’, Shiro shook his head. “This dweeb doesn’t own that many things, lol. Some of these are mine, which I’ll take over to Allura’s once my baby bro’s all set.”

    Keith kicked Shiro in the ankle on his way up the stairs while shooting his insufferable older brother _the_ _look_ , holding the heaviest box labelled ‘books’. At the top of the stairs, Keith struggled to reach the doorknob while balancing the aforementioned heavy box on his knee. After fumbling for far too long he turned to Nyma and Shiro, who were calmly conversing at the bottom of the stairs.

    “Nyma!” Keith groaned. “Open this goddamned door for me before my arms collapse!”

    The tired asian was met with an eyeroll and a reprimanding look, but ultimately spurred the two to hurry their pace.

    “Stop being such a pissbaby,” Nyma teased, easily shifting the pillow box onto her hip to throw the door open with her other hand. “Happy?”

    “Thanks,” Keith muttered, sliding his foot in between the door and the frame before it closed again. He pushed into his new home, leaving Nyma outside to keep his brother company.

    As they caught up in the heat, Keith was relieved that the apartment’s air conditioning worked. Nyma had moved in a few weeks ago already, and so everything was pretty much furnished and ready to be lived in. Keith took in his surroundings as he ventured into his home

    The apartment was pretty spacious, with an open living concept that Keith approved of. The door opened up right into the living room, which was home to Nyma’s mounted flat screen and a gray futon. The simple coffee table between the two already housed two lemonades with ice cubes--coasters and all. Near the balcony (yes, they apparently had an actual balcony) was the kitchen. It was wide and, although it didn’t have that much counter space, set up with Nyma’s extensive kitchen supplies (including, but not limited to, a coffee maker, a waffle iron, and a toaster). To the other side of the balcony was a small door, most likely a bathroom (Keith’s bathroom, since he let Nyma take the master bedroom and ensuite bathroom). A hallway next to the fridge lead to the bedrooms, Keith’s destination.

    He opened the first door, revealing the barren room that was to be his.

    Setting the box just inside of the room, Keith walked to the middle of it. Once centered, he took a slow turn, soaking up every detail of every crevice of his new room. This was going to be his home for as far into the future as he can see.

    The room wasn’t the biggest, but it wasn’t like Keith had too many things to fill up space. A mattress, a bookshelf, a desk, and a chair.

    Keith sighed, breathing in the musky scent of disuse. To his left, in the corner where he’d put his desk, was a huge window overlooking an empty green space. The hill curved downward, grass giving way to sand. At the sight of the water in the not-so-far-off distance, Keith was reminded of how close he was to the beach.

    With one last sigh, the not-as-disgruntled nineteen-year-old tore himself away from the room, already dreading the withering sun glaring at his pale skin from the other side of the ozone layer.

    “Fuck you,” he muttered to the sun once he reluctantly returned to the truck. He had passed Nyma and Shiro on the way out as they headed to put their boxes in his room.

    An unfamiliar voice startled him. “Well that’s kind of rude, buddy!”

    “Jesus!” Keith gasped, twisting around to face the owner of the voice. In his haste and startle Keith also managed to ram his right hip into the bed of the truck, hot metal meeting quickly-bruising skin.

    “I know; I truly _am_ the saviour of the human race,” the mystery-man replied. “Glad to know you agree, cutie.”

    Keith blinked once, twice, thrice, before opening his mouth to respond. Whether it was the heat or this stranger’s bold attitude obstructing his mind from formulating a reply didn’t matter. What mattered, was that Keith gaped like a fish in front of the cute new guy for seven whole seconds before Nyma showed up to save him.

    “Are you harassing my new roommate, Lance?” Nyma cut in, stopping next to the two boys.

    Almost immediately, the stranger--Lance, Keith remembered--shifted his whole body and attention onto the pretty Indian girl.

    “I wouldn’t call it harassment, babe,” Lance replied cooly (like Keith wished he could’ve told him off earlier). “More like a warm welcome, you know?”

    Lance punctuated his last statement with a wink in Keith’s direction. The latter’s blush was definitely a growing sunburn and nothing more.

    Fortunately, Lance’s inadvertent flirting shocked Keith into coherency.

    “The only thing warm is the sun’s scorching heat,” Keith replied in his usual haughty tone. “Who the fuck are you?”

    At Keith’s sudden iciness, Lance’s eyebrows rose. There was a certain spark in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Nope, Keith was just seeing things. Damn the heat, playing with his mind like that!

    “Lance McClain, rude-boy,” ‘Lance McClain’ replied, shoving a hand towards Keith in what he assumed was an invitation to formally shake hands. “And who do I have the displeasure of making an acquaintanceship with?”

    Keith scoffed, and before he could reply with a smartass remark involving many bad words, Nyma shoved herself between the two hotheaded boys.

    “Keith,” she answered, gesturing to her friend behind her. “He’s my new roommate, and in extension, your new neighbor. So play nice, you two.”

    Both boys spluttered at the idea of being neighbors, only silenced by Nyma’s sharp glares.

    Keith sighed, mustering up the adultness to introduce himself properly to Lance. “Keith. Keith Kogane. And the fucking pleasure’s all mine, unfortunately.”

     _Well, attempt to introduce,_ Keith amended in his head.

    Lance harrumphed, the smile he wore before he knew Keith completely erased. “Oh please! If anyone’s unfortunate it’s me. Sorry for trying to be nice! Guess mullet-headed idiots are immune to niceties!”  
    Before Keith could defend his hairstyle, another figure joined the triangle of animosity.

    “What’s goin on here?” Shiro asked innocently, taking notice of the stranger in their midst. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Shiro.”

    Lance’s face morphed back into his original one, a mask of happiness and hospitality. “Lance. Are you also moving in with Nyma?”

    Shiro chuckled, shaking Lance’s offered hand unlike his brother. “Oh no! I’m just helping my little broski--”

    “Shiro!”

    “--move in. I’m actually moving in with my girlfriend, incidentally. She lives here, too. You know Allura?”

    At the mention of Allura’s name, Lance’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees. “Do I know Allura?! Of fucking course I do! She’s, like, a goddess! How could I not know her? Man, you’re one lucky dude, Shiro!”

    Shiro’s expression turned soft, as it always did when he talked about Allura. “I know. I really am.”  
    “Yep,” Lance chuckled, eyeing the older man’s lovestruck expression. “Congratulations, man!”

    That is when Keith decided to continue unloading boxes. While Shiro and Lance continued sharing pleasantries (Shiro gushing about how wonderful his girlfriend was and Lance agreeing wholeheartedly with anecdotes of his own), Keith lugged the remaining boxes up the stairs. Nyma helped, deciding she needed to do some damage control between these two.

    The last box was placed in his room, when Nyma cleared her throat. She was leaning against his doorframe, eyeing her roommate’s red face and sour expression.

    “What?” Keith huffed, after a prolonged silence.

    “Nothing,” Nyma countered nonchalantly.

    Keith gave her the _look_ . “It’s obviously not _nothing_. Spit it out.”

    Nyma unfolded herself from the frame and lifted a finger as she stepped closer to him. “One, your venomous act doesn’t work on me dick-for-face. Two, are you going to let Lance become a problem?”

    At the mention of his new, obnoxious neighbor, Keith scoffed loudly (over-the-top, loudly). Mirroring Nyma, he held out a finger and replied, “One, that immature kid doesn’t affect me; hence, he isn’t--and will never be--a problem. Two, I don’t have a second thing so I’ll just call you something to balance the petname game, ballsucker.”

    At the familiar term of endearment Nyma laughed. “If anyone’s a ballsucker, it’s you, you emo-ass gay child!”

    “Hey!” Keith retorted with a smile and a pillow to Nyma’s face. “I only suck balls I like! I’m not a serial-fucker like you!”

    Nyma smirked as Keith was nailed in the face with his own pillow. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a serial-fucker, right?”

    Keith rolled his eyes, his expression morphing into something only her and Shiro had ever witnessed before. “Of course.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, this is my first proper attempt at fanfiction (long story, much cringe)? Obviously I've got a long ways to go so, yeah! Updates will probably be weekly but this is more of a fun venture to try to get myself to get back into writing so I apologize if its actual shite. Yeah. Um, I love Voltron and this is basically me trying to give back to the fandom (even though the fandom's kinda in disarray rn). 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are very much appreciated and encouraged! Lemme know what you liked, what you didn't like, what I should revise, what I should change completely--ANYTHING!* (Also, I'm really new to the tags so if you want me to tag something I haven't tagged yet then please let me know through the comments and I will!)
> 
> (*Unedited as of right now)


	2. Ten Surefire Ways to Tell If Your Neighbor is Secretly a Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith was about to go onto his online conspiracy forums, when someone knocked at the door.
> 
> Leaving his phone on the couch and quickly grabbing his wallet from his discarded pants, Keith sauntered up to the door and opened it without checking the peephole.
> 
> Instead of meeting the face of the pizza person who held his dinner for the night, he was met with the startling blue eyes of the annoying acquaintance-next-door--who was holding a measuring cup of matching color.
> 
> “Can I help you?” Keith sighed, crossing his arms defensively.
> 
> Lance rolled his eyes, already used to Keith’s rude, flat tone. “I’m sure you could help me with a lot of things,” he unconsciously flirted, “but for now, can I come in to borrow some sugar?”
> 
> Keith blinked once, twice, thrice (before he realized he’d already done that during their first meeting). “Are you a vampire?”

After Shiro and Lance parted ways that afternoon, the older man joined his brother and Nyma in the cool, new apartment. Sitting around the coffee table, Cartoon Network on in the background, the three young adults reminisced.

    “And remember the time you beat Sen-dick--”

    “Keith,” Shiro warned.

    “--in the nose for stealing my action figure?” Keith finished, snorting along with Nyma as they recollected their most memorable moments growing up.

    “How could I forget?” Nyma retorted. “I made you my personal slave for a whole month for my chivalry.”

    Shiro chuckled, setting his glass of lemonade down on a coaster (something Nyma telepathically pointed out to Keith). “Oh my god, Keith! You? A personal slave?”

    Keith groaned, letting his roll back against the couch. “Ugh. She made me call her Princess Nyma, too. I almost got bullied even more for that than I did for being the small asian kid at the orphanage!”

    “Please,” Nyma cut in. “Everyone was too afraid of me to even think of touching you.”

    Keith shrugged in response. “I guess.”

    They both locked gazes for a second, before bursting into simultaneous, rambunctious laughter. Shiro, feeling left out of a seemingly inside joke, chuckled along in order to not seem awkward.

    Once they sobered up, Nyma turned to the taller brother. “Anyways. So, Shiro, why was this morning the first I heard about you moving in with Ms. Altea?”

    While Shiro apologized for his lack of contact, Keith picked up their nearly empty glasses and headed to the kitchen. Setting them on the countertop, he grabbed the lemonade pitcher from the fridge and refilled their glasses. Putting ice in two out of three of them, he balanced the full glasses back to the living room where Shiro enraptured Nyma with another one of his stories about his glorious girlfriend.

    “And then,” Shiro continued, nodding a thanks in Keith’s direction, “she reached into the pocket of her sundress and pulled out a tiny black box. At first, I thought she was going to actually propose-propose, you know? And the funniest thing was that I didn’t even hesitate in my mind--I knew I would say yes to it! Like, she’s just so amazing and I didn’t see any reason to say no! But, she began to speak first. And once she went through her heartfelt speech--which, by the way, she wrote down for me to keep because she knows I love that kind of stuff--she opened the box to reveal a tiny key in between velvet felt. And then she asked me to move in with her and I almost didn’t even register that it wasn’t a marriage proposal when I screamed yes! And two months later, here we are!”

    “That’s so sweet,” Nyma exclaimed, wiping away unshed tears. “I’d love to meet her officially one day!”

    “Well, you guys can come over for dinner at some point? I’m sure she’d love to have you over!”  
    “It’s a date!”

    Shiro glanced at his wristwatch (one of his first presents from Allura), and sighed. “I’ll text you and Keith the details soon, but I should get going now.”

    “Of course,” Keith said, standing up with Shiro. “Can’t keep the missus waiting, can we?”

   Shiro playfully glared at his brother before shaking his head and starting for the door. Keith and Nyma shared a smirk when they noticed he didn’t deny it.

    “I can’t wait to meet her, Shiro! Tell her I say hi,” Nyma said in lieu of a goodbye. Hugging Shiro one last time, she left the brothers to say goodbye, heading down the hallway to her room.

    Shiro turned to his brother, leading him out the front door. Once outside, he turned to Keith with a knowing look in his eyes.

    Keith raised an eyebrow at his brother’s teasing smirk. “What?”

    Shiro shook his head with all the chill of a volcano. “Nuh~thing!”

    Keith’s eyes narrowed at his brother’s suspicious attitude. “Shiro…”

    “When were you going to tell me about your thing for Nyma?” Shiro asked, wiggling his eyebrows infuriatingly.

    “WHAT?!” Keith shrieked, ignoring Shiro’s cackles. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘my thing for Nyma’?”

    “I mean your not-so-obvious crush.”

    Keith scoffed, even gagged a little bit. “As if, shithead. Nyma and I are just friends, so stop being so heteronormative.”

    Shiro rolled his eyes. “I’m not being heteronormative, baby bro--”

    “Shiro, no.”

    “--ski. It’s written all over your face! I have literally never seen you smile or talk so much with another person! Hell, I’m pretty sure Nyma and I are the only people who know your facial muscles could even do that!”

    “That doesn’t mean I like her that way,” Keith tried reasoning. “She’s my oldest friend; we’ve been through a lot together--and apart. I’ve technically known her since before I knew you.”

    “I’m just saying, I can see it happening.”

    “Ew, Shiro stop--I’m gonna hurl!”

    “Keith, stop being a baby! And don’t be afraid to put yourself out there! I’m sure she’ll like you too, bro.”

    Before Keith could vehemently reject Shiro’s encouragement, the latter skipped down the stairs and was in his truck.

    Rolling down the window, Shiro parted after saying, “Good luck Keith! Don’t be afraid to take risks!”

    Keith watched as his brother drove back to their old apartment to get more of his stuff. He’d probably see him again tonight, when he moved in with Allura, so he could set his brother straight once and for all.

    And maybe let him know that Keith himself wasn’t.

    Ruffling his bangs, Keith stepped back inside his apartment to be faced with a bored looking Nyma channel surfing.

    Trudging his way to the comfy couch, Keith plopped himself down next to her, graciously taking the lemonade offered. She leaned into him, letting his shoulder pillow her head as she switched to her Hulu Plus account. Keith almost sipped the innocent-looking lemonade, before his keen sense of smell stopped his lips, millimeters away from the glass.

    Keith glance at Nyma, who was gauging his reaction. “You spiked this, didn’t you?”

    Nyma laughed, swapping her untouched (unspiked) glass for his. “I just added a little beer to see if you’d actually notice. You’re better than I thought you were.”

    Keith rolled his eyes, carefully sipping his lemonade before confirming it was untouched. “Working at a club does that to you.”

    “But you don’t even drink!”

    “Which makes me the best employee.”

    Nyma snorted, making herself cozy in Keith’s side. “Please. With your permanent scowl and unapproachability? I’m still surprised they haven’t fired you--or that you haven’t quit.”  
    “Well, gotta keep the bills rolling somehow, even if I don’t have to worry about college right now. And besides, you’ve never seen me at work. I’m courteous as fuck when you aren’t involved.”

    “Suuu~re,” his friend replied. “Which reminds me. Do you know when you’re coming back to the Garrison?”

    Keith shrugged, keeping his gaze focused on his cuticles. “I don’t know, Nyma. I’m not ready to come back this year, though--that’s for sure.”

    Nyma frowned, twisting to stare at her friend. “But Shiro’s all better now. And even if he isn’t back to a hundred percent--and no one’s blaming him if he isn’t--he has Allura now. It’s been over a year since the accident, Keith. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

    “It’s not like that, Nyma! I just--” Keith broke off, an unknown pressure building in his throat. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I’m ready. I just know that I’m not right now.”

    With one last withering look, making Keith look up to see her expression soften, Nyma sighed. “Alright, Keith. I believe you.”

    They resumed their channel surfing, stopping on some action-flick. Both glasses drained, two family-sized bags of chips between them, their impromptu movie afternoon resumed.

    “So,” Nyma started, lowering the volume as someone blew up on screen, “what did Shiro and you talk about once I left?”

    Keith, remembering his brother’s outrageous accusations, snorted. “He told me to not be afraid to ask you out.”

    Nyma almost peed a kidney, laughing so hard she rocked the couch. “OH MY GOD!”

    Keith chuckled along, cringing at the thought. “I know right? He just wouldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t like you like that.”

    Nyma fake-pouted, turning to Keith with an obnoxious puppy-dog face. “What do you mean Keith? Am I not your type?!”

    “Grow a dick and then we’ll see.”

    Nyma’s uncontrollable laughter was contagious. By the time the two found their breaths, they had sprawled halfway onto the floor.

    Nyma, lying down on the couch with her legs dangling off the side, turned to look at Keith’s face. The latter was on the ground, legs still tucked into the back cushions of the couch.

    “When are you going to tell him?” she asked sincerely.

    Keith glanced at her, before inspecting his cuticles in avoidance. “When you come out to your parents.”

    Nyma snorted at that. “You and I both know that if I tell my parents that I’m aromantic they’ll: a. bust all their nuts, b. marry me off to some stranger, or c. basically keep me on house arrest for the rest of my life.”

    “You’re being dramatic,” Keith reassured softly, poking the Indian girl’s cheek as she peered over the edge of the couch.

    “Maybe,” she sighed, “but I do know they won’t be happy.”

    “They will have to find peace eventually.”

    “They’re brown, Keith; you can drag the horse to the well but you can’t make it drink the water.”

    “Give them a chance, dude.”

    “I could say the same to you about Shiro.”

    That shut Keith up. It wasn’t that he was scared Shiro will reject him, but it was exactly that. He knows, deep down, that Shiro was too nice and accepting to hate Keith for being gay. He knew that. But that didn’t stop him from waking up in cold sweat whenever he gets a nightmare about being outed. Shiro and Nyma were virtually his only family. Losing either one of them was an unbearable thought that he shoved deep down with all his other anxieties and emotions.

    “Agree to disagree?” Keith offered, deciding that that was enough on the emotional front for the both of them.

    “Gladly.”

    The movie was about to end, and Keith’s phone said it was already past six o’clock.

    “What time is it?” Nyma asked, stretching. Keith heard the distinct pop of her joints and felt himself following in suit.

    “Dinner time,” he groaned, cracking every bone he knew how. “It’s past six. What’s the plan?”

    “Fuck,” she muttered. “I was going to force you to cook, but it’s too late and I’m too hungry. Ugh, guess we’ll order in then.”

    “Pizza?” Keith suggested, taking the empty glasses to the kitchen.

    “Sure,” Nyma replied, “Deep-dish, plain cheese?”

    “Yeah. You can get chicken on your half, if you want, though.”

    Nyma started to her bedroom. “Thanks! I’ll order and then go for a bath.”

    “Cool,” Keith responded, washing the glasses by hand before putting them out to dry.

    After a hot day of moving, Keith decided that a shower would be a good idea for himself too. Stripping down to his underwear and socks, Keith threw his day clothes in a pile near his bedroom door, where he’d put his hamper. Fishing for a worn shirt and a pair of boxers, Keith grabbed his towel and toiletries and headed to his bathroom.

    One cool shower later, Keith felt like a new man. Lounging in his heart-print boxers and Shiro’s old baseball tee, Keith signed into his Netflix account on the tv. Opening Nyma’s account, he readied the next episode of the show she had been raving about last he heard. He was about to go onto his online conspiracy forums, when someone knocked at the door.

    Leaving his phone on the couch and quickly grabbing his wallet from his discarded pants, Keith sauntered up to the door and opened it without checking the peephole.

    Instead of meeting the face of the pizza person who held his dinner for the night, he was met with the startling blue eyes of the annoying acquaintance-next-door--who was holding a measuring cup of matching color.

    “Can I help you?” Keith sighed, crossing his arms defensively.

    Lance rolled his eyes, already used to Keith’s rude, flat tone. “I’m sure you could help me with a lot of things,” he unconsciously flirted, “but for now, can I come in to borrow some sugar?”

    Keith blinked once, twice, thrice (before he realized he’d already done that during their first meeting). “Are you a vampire?”

    At the mention of the nocturnal humans, Lance chuckled. “What the fuck, man?”

    Keith narrowed his eyes. “You legit just used a textbook line. You ask for sugar, I say yes and accidentally give you permission to come in, you murder me in my own home, and then you suck my blood and leave,” Keith listed, as if it were normal information that everyone should have stored in their heads.

    Lance’s eyes widened before he burst into laughter that rivalled Nyma in volume. “Oh my god, dude! That is legit the last thing I expected you to say! Give me a second!”

    Lance reached out and leaned against the doorframe in order to not fall over. Keith stood in front of him, unamused. However, the wrinkle between his eyebrows softened imperceptibly.

    “Okay,” Lance finally exhaled. “Wow. You said it with such a straight face, man. You almost had me there!”

    Keith declined to rebut with his theories, deciding that it would save him from embarrassment in the future. “Whatever. Do you still need that sugar?”

    At the reminder of his original purpose, Lance’s head shot up.

    “Oh yeah!” he exclaimed, making wild hand gestures. “Hunk’s helping me make Dulce de Leche since tomorrow is my mama’s birthday; we’re hoping to surprise her with a video call and celebrate with the fam overseas. But Hunk, my dear buddy, used all our sugar baking stuff for Shay’s twenty-first. Still can’t believe they’re not together, though they are the cutest not-couple I know.”

    Keith, who would usually tune out of the conversation once he got what he wanted, was quietly surprised he caught all of that. Even more surprising was that he wanted to ask for more. Where was the rest of his family? Why were Shay and Hunk not a couple? Who was Hunk?

    He decided to start with the easiest. “Hunk?”

    Lance eased into a muted smile. “Hunk? He’s my roommate--and by extension, your new neighbor.”

    Lance punctuated the last sentence with an awkward-yet-cheeky wink. Keith rolled his eyes, remembering Nyma’s words from before.

    “Cool,” Keith replied. “You can come in and help me find the sugar. If we have any, that is.”

    “Sweet!”

    Keith rolled his eyes at the pun, opening the door wider for his not-as-insufferable-as-he-previously-thought neighbor to come in.

    “Sweet digs,” Lance said, painting the silence that hung between them with his loud voice. “Is that ‘13 Reasons Why’?”

    Lance pointed at the TV screen, set to start playing episode 6 of the show Keith picked earlier.

    Keith shrugged. “I think? Nyma’s watching it.”

    “Oh. What about you?” Lance asked, marching towards the kitchen.

    Again, Keith shrugged, before realizing that Lance couldn’t see him as he was faced the other way. “I prefer books. Also, it doesn’t really seem like my thing.”

    “I would assume it would be emo enough for you, mullet-man.”

    Keith shoved Lance a little bit as he entered the kitchen. “Okay first of all, it’s not a mullet. Second of all, I’m not emo, kelp-for-brains.”

    “Kelp-for-brains?” Lance repeated. “That’s new.”

    Keith ignored Lance’s blue eyes (the same shade as the ocean he saw outside of his window), and turned to the pantry shelves.

    After five minutes of scouring through every crevice of the kitchen, Lance sighed.

    “Don’t sweat it, mullet-man--”

    “It’s Keith.”

    “--I’ll just ask Pidge for some sugar.”

    Before he could leave, Keith touched his wrist. “Hold on; lemme check that last one.”

    It was the cupboard near the fridge. It was the highest, making Keith actually stretch to his full five feet and nine inches (nine inches and one third) to reach it. Just before he grabbed the container containing white powder (which he hoped was sugar and not some other dubious substance he’d have to talk to Nyma about), Lance reached over. Flush against Keith’s back for an agonizing moment (a moment that seemed to end too quickly and never end at all), the taller boy snatched the container before Keith’s cheeks could even flush

    “Thanks, shorty!” he replied cheerily, setting it on the counter next to Keith.

    Keith glared, huffing at Lance. “You’re barely an inch taller than me, string bean!”

    “Ooh,” Lance chuckled, “string bean! What a curse!

    Before Lance could unscrew the lid, Keith grabbed the container and held it away from Lance’s pouting figure.

    “Now you don’t get any sugar, fuckface,” Keith retorted. “Bye bye!”

    Lance gasped, crumpling across the counter in an over dramatic fashion that Keith was not ready for. “OH! THE AGONY! THE BETRAYAL! KEITH, HOW COULD YOU COMMIT SUCH A TREASON?! HOW DARE YOU?!”

    Keith, after realizing that Lance was normally that weird, rolled his eyes before putting the container in front of Lance’s face on the counter.

    “Shut up, you big baby. Only so you’ll stop being so loud,” Keith huffed, hiding his amusement.

    Lance returned to normal, throwing Keith a bright grin. “Thanks Keef!”

    “Kee-TH.”

    “KEEF,” Lane replied without looking, measuring a cup of sugar.

    Keith rolled his eyes, defeated with his new neighbor’s immaturity.

    Once a cup was measured (“it has to be exactly a cup, Keith! I can’t add a single grain less or else Hunk will wring me! Well, that’s a lie. He’d just sigh and shake his head. He’s a big softy. You should meet him soon, mullet man!” “KEITH! MY NAME IS KEITH!”), Lance and Keith found themselves at the front door once again.

    “Welp, it was wonderful searching for sugar with you, KEITH,” Lance drag out, smirking.

    Keith rolled his eyes--a common occurrence, he observed. “It was interesting,” the shorter boy agreed begrudgingly.

    “We could’ve saved a lot of time if I knew you weren’t as bitter you seemed this morning,” Lance mused. “You’re sweeter than I thought you could be.”

    The heat rising up on Keith’s cheeks and neck was definitely reminiscent sunburn. “I hope you get diabetes.”

    Lance laughed at the other boy, while Keith tried to get his skin to start listening to him.

    “Bye Keith,” Lance chuckled.

    The weird feeling Keith felt in his abdomen wouldn’t go away. Keith sighed, before calling Lance’s name.

    Lance turned, raising a curious eyebrow at his chilly neighbor. “Yeah?”

    Apologizing wasn’t something that came easy for Keith. It could be traced back to a lot of things, possible stems for his reluctance sprouting from many parts of his childhood. He thinks it’s because of how many times he’s had people sympathetically apologize for his circumstances. Yes, he was an orphan. Yes, he didn’t have any family he knew of. Yes, he’d never lived in a home longer than half a year until the Shiroganes. But that wasn’t anyone’s fault. And if Keith could accept that, unwillingly and begrudgingly, then so should all those people who look at him with pity and want to feel a false feeling of righteousness by trying to make him feel better.

    So when he opens his mouth, Keith doesn’t expect the words to come out as easy as they do. “I want to apologize for how I acted this morning.”

    At Lance’s stunned silence, Keith continued with a grimace. “I was rude and awful and I want to blame it on the heat and my crankiness, but it was mostly because you caught me off guard. I don’t get caught off guard that often. Um, anyway, I just wanted to say sorry for being a dick to you. Yeah.”

    Lance blinked. Once, twice, thrice (another common occurrence, Keith noted). Just as soon as Keith decided to run away and hide under his mattress, a smile bloomed on Lance’s face.

    “Well, well, well,” the taller boy exclaimed, leaning against his closed door with a faded smirk, “look who has manners!”

    “Shut up, dickhead. I still think you’re annoying--just, more tolerable during better weather.”

    Lance laughed at Keith’s defensive posture. “Sure, Keith-y boy. You keep telling yourself that. I’ll have you falling for my charms in no time.”

    “Good luck with that, piss baby,” Keith huffed, hiding the hints of a genuine smile under his unruly ‘mullet’ (oh my god, it’s not a mullet--why am _I_ calling it that now?!).

    “You’re on, Keith Kogane,” Lance promised, saluting his neighbor almost sarcastically before turning to open his own door.

    Keith waited, closing the door slow enough to see Lance’s head pop back out for a quick moment.

    “By the way, I’m really digging those boxers, my dude,” Lance blurted. “They really _suit_ you.”

    Keith stalls for a moment, meeting Lance’s mischievous blue eyes. His eyebrows began doing that wiggle thing that Keith found himself finding not-as-irritating as before. The raven-haired boy glanced back down at his heart printed boxers, before slamming his door.

    Lance’s laughter could be heard through the door, as did Keith’s girly screech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH this was a day late! Sorry to anyone who was actually waiting for this (also give yourself for being awesome in general)! Periods suck, and sucky wifi sucks worse. Meaning I had this all typed out literally a week ago but half of it got deleted and I procrastinated rewriting it until today. Ugh; excuses, excuses.
> 
> Anyway, COMMENTS AND KUDOS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED AND ENCOURAGED! Help me become a better writer by telling my what I did wrong or what I did write because right now I'm flying blind.
> 
> Also plot wise I will try to incorporate some more actual content instead of copping out and just writing whatever I wrote? Idk it just feels like I'm not writing anything substantial, and I'll try to rectify that asap. ]
> 
> So, yeah. Feel free to compliment the void with me on my Tumblr: @youraveragemushroom.


	3. Meet the Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Social interaction never came easily to Keith. However, over the week following the move, Keith had managed to meet/befriend the rest of his building-mates.

Social interaction never came easily to Keith. However, over the week following the move, Keith had managed to meet/befriend the rest of his building-mates.

    He already knew Allura, but reacquainted himself with his brother’s girlfriend the night of the move. She and Shiro had come over with takeout, and the four turned dinner into an event. Stuffed with pizza and dumplings from the Chinese place Shiro vowed he’d take Keith, all four of them ended up crashing in an awkward mess in the living room.

    Next was this kid who lived underneath Keith and Allura--Pidge Holt.

    Pidge he met under somewhat peculiar circumstances.

    Shiro had dropped Keith off at the auto-repair shop that particular Monday morning for work. He’d checked in a little earlier than usual to check up on _Miin_ , his bike. He brought her in a few weeks ago to check up on her engine, but just hadn’t found the time to actually do it.

    It was as he walked over to her that he overheard Matt talking to someone in the breakroom.

    “I’m sorry Pidge,” the familiar voice said, “but I won’t attach these boosters on your Vespa--mom will kill me if she found out!”

    “Don’t be a wimp, Matt,” another voice replied, higher in pitch and brasher in tone. “These boosters are fool-proof; I made them myself!”

    “You do realize how mental you sound, right?”

    “C’mon?!” ‘Pidge’ begged. “Pretty please? I’ll owe you two favors, cashable within the year!”

    Matt was about to begrudgingly admit defeat when he caught sight of Keith passing by the open doorway.

    “Keith!” he shouted, jogging over to his fellow employee-slash-friend. “Convince my sister that attaching homemade mini rocket boosters on her biodegradable-y-run Vespa is a bad idea while I get to work on Miin.”

    Keith frowned. “That’s okay, Matt. I was gonna check up on her anyway--”

    “Get that gremlin away from me, before she convinces me to do something that will get me grounded eternally,” the taller boy amended, pointing rudely at his sister.

    “Shut the fuck up and face me like a respectable person, brother dearest,” the short girl in question piped up.

    Pidge was shorter than Keith, and looked much younger than him as well. Her chopped hair reflected her height and only added to her sharp attitude. She wore a baggy, green hoodie despite the heat and cargo shorts with pockets that seemed to be spilling with spare mechanical parts. Her round, wire-rim glasses--haphazardly taped in many places--sat low on the bridge of her nose at that moment, having slid down during the argument with Matt.

    “Good luck,” Matt muttered to Keith before running off to Miin’s workspace. “I’ll take good care of _Red Rose_.”

    Keith coughed awkwardly, having been burdened with the unexpected weight of social interaction. He glanced at Pidge, only to be met with a set of bored eyes.

    “Uhh…”

    “Sorry about all that,” Pidge interrupted. “Matt’s a wuss who underestimates my ability to build awesome tech. My name’s Pidge.”

    She offered an arm to shake, which Keith accepted with as little hesitation as he could.

    “Keith,” he said curtly. “And I’ve heard a little about you.”

    Pidge scoffed. “Does he complain about how I get him in trouble all the time?”

    “No, actually. He likes to brag about his genius little sister. And--don’t tell him I mentioned this--he completely believes in your ability to build awesome tech; he just worries a lot.”

    This catches Pidge off guard. Smirking to herself, she glances over at her older brother, who was pointedly not facing their direction.

    “Oh really?” she asks, crossing her arms. “What else does he say?”

    And this is how Keith found himself sharing embarrassing work stories about his friend while he installed Pidge’s homemade mini boosters (thoroughly checked and approved by Keith as well as a senior mechanic who also seemed to be familiar with Pidge’s technical prowess) onto her kiwi-colored Vespa.

    “And then,” Keith continued, wiping his sweaty palms against his black, work tank, “he goes into this deep, passionate rant about the environment and how proud he was of your upgrade to biodegradable waste for fuel instead of fossil fuels. Kevin was just walking out of the break room when he started flailing his arms excitedly--you know animated he gets--and he just clocks him. Right in the eye! Anyway, Kevin had to wear an eye patch for, like, a whole month.”

    Pidge was having the time of her life, laughing at all the cringey stories she never got to hear about her brother’s work-life. Keith too was enjoying himself, finding a nice buffer in embarrassing Matt. Whoops.

    “That’s so Matt,” Pidge chuckled.

    Keith nodded, smiling at the memories. It had almost been a year since he began working at Kerberos Auto-Repair. Matt got him the job when he decided to drop out of--ahem, take a gap year from--the Garrison after Shiro’s accident. It was meant to be temporary--something to keep him busy and help pay bills while Shiro was in recovery--but he just never bothered leaving the comfortable atmosphere of gasoline, grease, and machinery.

    “Yep,” Keith agreed. “On the bright side, your scooter should be ready to go.”

    The asian boy patted one of the green scooter’s mirrors like he’d pet a dog. Pidge tutted, correcting him with a, “Her name is Green, and she’s a lady of improvement.”

    Keith nodded, understanding the similar sentiment he had with naming his bike.

    Miin was a red motorcycle he’d fixed up himself when he first started there. She was going to be sold for her parts, but Keith had begged his boss to sell it to him. Against all odds Keith fixed her--healed her--and rechristened her as _Miin_ . It meant _rose_ in Korean. Or at least that’s what google said. Keith didn’t know the language, despite being Korean himself. Fourteen years in orphanages, surrounded by people who only spoke English, tended to have that result.

    Keith nodded to Pidge in lieu of response.

    It was already nine-thirty, and Pidge worried that she would be late for her first class.

    “Thank god for my new upgrade,” she exclaimed, clipping on her floral helmet. “Put the cost on Matt’s tab--he still owes me.”

    “Sure thing,” Keith nodded. “Be careful, Pidge.”

    Pidge rolled her eyes, waving off Keith’s mothering. “Yeah, yeah. It was nice meeting you, Keith. See ya later!”

    “Ditto,” Keith replied, watching Pidge speed out of the open garage door.

    The rest of the day went on normally: Matt complaining about something, Kevin retorting sarcastically, Keith occasionally offering sassy remarks leaving both boys flabbergasted.

    By the time Keith’s shift was over, he was hot, exhausted, and ready for a lunch filled with carbs. He hitched a ride with Matt, who dropped him off at home. Lunch was leftover pizza in front of the tv and Keith could not have been more in his own element.

    After lunch, Keith decided it would be a good idea to pick up Nyma’s mail for her. He didn’t know how long it would take for his address to officially change, but he rarely had any mail either way.

    It was in the mailroom where he met his other neighbor.

    Keith hadn’t been paying attention, checking the online forums on his phone, when he suddenly collided into a mass of human and promptly slipped on the uneven pavement in shock. He would also deny the tiny squeak he emitted.

    “Woah, dude,” the stranger said, “you okay?”

    Keith grunted, nodding his head. The tall stranger offered an arm to help him up, reminding Keith of another arm offered to him today and how different the bodies they were attached to were.

    Unlike Pidge in every way, the stranger was tall, dark-skinned, and male. He was heavy-set and intimidating in every way but his expression. The genuine concern etched onto his handsome face was enough to make any apprehension Keith may have felt dissipate. The man seemed to be smoothed out into soft smiles in contrast to Pidge’s wicked sharp retorts.

    “M’fine, thank you,” Keith mumbled unintelligibly. Absently, he reached up to grasp the stranger’s hand and was pleasantly surprised to be picked off the ground in one strong tug.

    Keith stumbled, almost knocking the stranger’s grocery bags out of his hand.

    “Crap,” Keith muttered, catching himself before he stumbled into the stranger again. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Thanks for helping me up.”

    The kind stranger smiled, concern washing off his face. “No worries, dude! The name’s Hunk. You new here? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

    Keith nodded, wiping the invisible dust off his pants to keep his hands busy. “Uh, yeah. I just moved in this weekend with my friend. We’re in apartment 14B?”

    Hunk’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! That’s right in front of us! I mean, me and my roommate. You must be Keith! Lance might’ve mentioned you…”

    Why was Keith not surprised.

    “Ditto,” Keith replied. “He told me about his prodigal-chef-roommate after the sugar incident. Nice to officially meet you.”

    The two boys shook hands, before things fell to an awkward silence again. Keith had already pocketed his phone, and Hunk shifted his balance to his other foot.

    It was silent until Hunk broke it. “So, Keith. Need any help?”

    Keith perked at the opportunity to ditch the awkwardity. “Yeah, actually. I don’t really know where our mailbox is…”

    “Fear not, fellow neighbor!” Hunk exclaimed, nodding in the direction he had come from. “I can show you!”

    Keith and Nyma’s mailbox was right next to Lance and Hunk’s, the 13B and 14B sitting side by side.

    “So how long have you guys lived here?” Keith asked as he got their mail--Nyma’s monthly subscriptions and miscellaneous coupons.

    “We moved here almost a year ago, for college,” Hunk replied as Keith locked the box and straightened.

    At the mention of college--a sore subject, still, for the lighter skinned boy--Keith stiffened imperceptibly. Hunk and Keith were both heading back to their respective apartments, and happened to silently agree to walk together. Hunk didn’t seem to sense Keith’s discomfort; even if he had, Keith didn’t let the feeling linger in his facial expression.

    “You guys go to the Garrison?” Keith asked nonchalantly.

    “Yep,” Hunk confirmed with a proud smile. “I’m in mechanical engineering and Lance is taking astrophysics. We’re both gonna be sophomores in the Fall.”

    Keith nodded, trying to ignore all the nagging thoughts that made him reconsider taking an official gap year (all of them sounded unsurprisingly like Shiro). “Cool,” he replied lamely.

    “What about you?” Hunk asked.

    Keith raised an eyebrow, playing at innocence. “What about me?”

    “What’s your major?” Hunk clarified.

    Keith sighed softly, averting his gaze to the cracked pavement before answering. “I’m actually not in college at the moment; I decided to take a gap year.”

    Something in Keith’s unaffected tone made his discomfort apparent to Hunk.

    “Oh,” the bigger man replied quickly. “That’s neat!”

    “I was in the Astrophysics program, too, though.”

    “I bet Lance’ll get a kick outta that,” Hunk huffed, smile becoming more at ease.

    Keith also felt himself relax at the mention of his moronic neighbor. Keith chuckled in response, shaking his head.

    “Yeah,” he said dumbly, not knowing how to proceed.

    The air between them went silent again. Keith hated how awkward he was, but that didn’t mean he could help it or even make things _un_ -awkward.

    “So,” Keith drawled, thinking of something to talk about. “How did the Dulce-de-Leche cheesecake turn out?”

    It was when Hunk’s eyes lit up that Keith realized that food was a great go-to topic for his neighbor.

    “Oh my god,” Hunk started. “It was amazing!”

    The rest of their walk was punctuated with Hunk’s animated hand gestures and hilarious recipe recounts, as well as Keith’s thoughtful nods and well-placed ‘ _hm_ ’s. By the time they had gotten to their rooms, Hunk had already explained three complicated recipes and enthusiastically invited Keith to come over whenever to cook with him. Keith decided then that Hunk must be protected at all costs.

    “Well, it was nice meeting you Keith,” Hunk said earnestly, unlocking his door with the hand weighed down with grocery bags. “Stop by anytime to chill or something, dude!”

    “Right back at you, Hunk,” Keith replied, offering a genuine smile before turning back to his door. Hunk had already gotten inside by the time Keith had his door unlocked.

    Once inside, Keith dropped Nyma’s mail on the front table and toed out of his shoes. Blame his and Nyma’s Asian genes, but they both had this weird habit about taking their shoes off in the house. Keith found it repulsive to wear shoes on carpet, and anyone who thought otherwise had something else coming for them.

    Having nothing else to do until his evening shift at the club, Keith took a nap on the couch. He faded away, listening to Nyma’s ‘Obscure Hipster Music for Keith’ Spotify playlist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter is super short (well, shortest so far) but it's a little early because I'm trying to make up for how short it is? Sorry! Anyways, a glimpse into my personal life (reason why I didn't deliver as well this week): I'm going on a family trip to Las Vegas! So yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow (update day) and so everything is kinda messy?
> 
> But I have an awesome beta who literally saved my ass with this fic ugh thank her: [writing_shark aka one of my bestestestest (i'm a writer, therefore I decree that a word) friends](http://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_shark)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are encouraged and very much appreciated (I'm a needy ho ngl)!! Message me [@youraveragemushroom](http://youraveragemushroom.tumblr.com) on tumblr and help me shout compliments to the void because she deserves them. Also, join my Voltron fangirl hell. Have a great week and lemme know what you liked/didn't like!


	4. May the Best Man Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Lance said a little too loudly, “how was my wooing?”
> 
> “You’re wooing should be booed,” he replied. “But I am thoroughly entertained. You make quite the good fool.”
> 
> Lance rolled his eyes in return, scoffing dramatically. “That’s how it starts. Just you wait, Kogane. I’ll prove to you that my charms are indelible!”
> 
> “I’d love to see you try!” Keith challenged.
> 
> Lance chuckled mirthlessly. “Alright then. I accept your challenge! Before the New Year, I will have successfully wooed Nyma.”  
> Keith narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “I don’t know…”
> 
> “Trust me,” Lance implored. “I won’t hurt her in any way. And besides! If I do, you get the first shot at me, right after my mother--since she would kill me if I ever even thought about playing with another person’s feelings.”
> 
> Lance extended an arm out, a deal. “What’d you say, Keith?”
> 
> With one last wary look, Keith sighed.
> 
> “Deal,” he said, shaking Lance’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits: Drive By by Train (<3)

It was past three in the morning when Keith got home from work at _Balmera_ (the nightclub that is mainly populated by the nearby universities), and he was ready to collapse. Thursday was his first shift after the move, and Keith refused to skip even though his boss told him he was free to.

    Keith was grateful to both of his bosses--looking for a job through recommendation and with little-to-no work experience did not make the offers come pouring in. The least he could do was work as hard as he could and not let them down. So that’s what he did, despite the fatigue and scratchy throat he felt forming as he rolled into bed that night.

    After a restless night of sleep, it was Friday morning and Keith Kogane was officially sick. His shift at the auto-repair shop started later, the only silver lining to his miserable situation.

    Keith passed Nyma on his way to the bathroom. She was eating yogurt on the couch--yogurt she almost dropped once she caught sight of her very pale friend.

    “Woah! Keith! You look like shit,” she exclaimed, not bothering to get up.

    “I feel like it, too,” Keith croaked, reluctantly slipping into the cold bathroom. The chill he had ignored as he got out of bed returned tenfold as he brushed his teeth with scorching hot water (although to him it felt lukewarm).

    Standing under the cool stream of water in the shower (damn you and your obsessive need for hot water, Nyma), Keith almost passed out from the cold. He was awoken by Nyma’s incessant knocking and incoherent shouting.

    Dragging himself out onto the cold tile floor seemed too much effort and he almost gave up halfway. However, he knew Nyma wouldn’t hesitate to break the door in if he didn’t open it soon, and he really didn’t want to reach that level of intimacy with his occasionally vindictive friend. Wrapping his towel around his waist, Keith opened the door, shivering like a newborn kitten.

    Nyma paused, assessing her friend’s misery. “Uh, I was gonna remind you that work starts in an hour. But I’m not letting you leave the house, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

    Keith’s mind was slow to process in his fevered state. “...huh?”

    Nyma didn’t bother to answer, reaching out to his forehead. “That’s what I thought; you’re burning up, dipshit.”

    Keith stepped out of her reach, before shoving himself past her.

    “Shut up, poop-head,” he muttered as he struggled to get back to his room. In his sick haze, Keith forgot to get his clothes. He managed to shimmy his way into his boxers before he decided that physical exertion was beyond him.

    Groaning, Keith collapsed onto his barely-warm sheets and prayed for the sweet release of death.

    Nyma knocked twice, before entering. Seeing her friend in such a pathetic state, she sighed. Keith felt his mattress dip near his hip as Nyma took a seat next to his near-corpse.

    “Gimme your phone,” she demanded, fingers carding through his tangled locks. “You’re not going to work today.”

    “Hnngg,” Keith emitted, rolling over and consequently wrapping the duvet around himself. “I can’t just call in sick all of a sudden, Nyma.”

    “Well, you can’t go in half-dead,” she replied, grabbing his phone from where it was charging. Unlocking it with Keith’s permission (“Why is your password 1966 again?” “...” “...?” “...first Mothman sighting.” “OH MY GOD!”), Nyma called Matt and explained the predicament.

    After a minute of explanation, as well as backhanded worrying, Nyma handed Keith his phone.

    “Matt wants to talk,” she said simply, watching as her friend came back to life.

    Keith groped around blindly for her hand, before Nyma caught his flailing limb and shoving the cellular device into his hand and curling his fingers around it. Once she was satisfied with his grip, she let go.

    “‘Lo?” Keith mumbled.

    “Hey buddy!” Matt answered, chipper enough for the both of them. “Heard you were feeling under the weather, dude.”

    “Nyma’s overreacting,” Keith said, rolling his eyes and attempting to sit up. He failed at both, though Nyma didn’t have to mention it.

    “Nah fam,” the older boy chuckled over the receiver. “You really sound like shit, man.”

    Keith frowned, eyes still closed (when had he closed his eyes?). “I’m fi--”

    “Nuh-uh-up! You’re staying home and resting until you get better. You’ve never taken a sick day or a holiday before--it’ll be fine!”

    “But--”

    “No butts!--” insert giggle from actual adult Matt Holt “--Uncle Holt practically loves you! Just rest, dudebro!”

    Keith paused, trying to suppress the cough building in his throat unsuccessfully. “Are you sure?”

    “Yes!” Matt insisted. “Don’t come in, alright?”

    Keith sighed, secretly grateful that Matt was such a hardass. “Fine. Thanks, Matt.”

    “Sweet! No problem, bro,” Matt assured. “And I’m calling my mom and telling her to send you some of her godsent soup. Trust me, you’ll better by tomorrow! But don’t you dare try to pick up a make-up shift or some shit like that!”  
    “Wait, Matt, that’s really unnecess--”

    “TOO LATE--NO CALLBACKS! GET BETTER! BYE!”

    Matt hung up before Keith could protest further, and the latter was too tired to call him back to refuse his coddling.

    His throat was dry and scratchy and just being a pain the neck. The cold feeling crept back into his system, making the raven-haired boy convulse in on himself. His toes, which remained uncovered by the blanket, wiggled in search of warmth while his nose felt like it was experiencing arctic temperatures. Even his torso and arms, trapped in a blessed blanket burrito, were shivering from the fever chills.

    “C’mon Keith,” Nyma said, pulling Keith from his barely-warm haven. “Let’s get you to the couch, where I can make sure you aren’t dead.”

    Keith huffed, sassily retorting through chattering teeth. “I can take care of myself, _mom_.”

    “Says the baby who is basically being carried by a hundred and twenty pound girl.”

    “A hundred and twenty pound girl who works out regularly,” Keith reminded, collapsing onto the couch as soon as he was in its range. Unfortunately, his addled mind miscalculated the distance and he soon found himself sprawled out on the dirty carpet.

    “Damn straight,” she coughed, pulling Keith’s dead weight off the floor and onto the soft couch. Quickly rushing back to her sick friend’s room, Nyma returned with Keith’s comforter.

    “But I’m not straight, Nyma!” Keith whined as she tucked him in.

    “It’s a metaphor, stupid,” Nyma chuckled, heading to what Keith assumed was the kitchen.

    “Where you goin’?” Keith mumbled, already drifting off.

    When Nyma returned, cool towel and two water bottles in hand, her friend had already fallen asleep. She sighed, setting the bottles on the table (which she had pushed closer so Keith could reach it without unwinding too much) and placed the cool, wet cloth on his forehead under his mass of dark hair.

    Once she was sure that he wasn’t going to wake up soon, Nyma made herself cozy against Keith’s stomach, shoving him into the back of the couch. Using his torso as a pillow and the table as a footrest, Nyma texted her friend to send her any notes she might take in class later that day. With one last look at the pathetic mess of a friend she had, the Nyma turned on the television and played a Telugu movie on low volume.

 

Keith woke an hour later to a pounding in his face and and general distaste for life. So nothing new.

    Except Keith could really feel the sickness now, and there was no denying that going to work would’ve actually killed his soul. Nyma shifted at his feet, blinking lazily at the TV, the unfamiliar indian movie still playing.

    “What movie is that?” Keith asked, sitting up slightly.  
    Nyma glanced over at him, pausing the movie. “Something to pass the time--doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

    Keith shrugged, pulling the duvet tighter around himself. He could feel himself sitting in his cold sweat but he couldn’t bring himself to let his skin touch the cool air. His toes were covered by Nyma’s fuzzy socks and he was wearing a thin shirt--both, he had noticed, he hadn’t been wearing when he went to sleep.

    “I’ve been better,” Keith muttered, settling himself in the warmest corner of the couch crease. “Don’t you have class?”

    Nyma shrugged, but Keith was already curled in on himself and just heard silence. “Sick friend trumps college. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to analyze articles from pompous white bastards from the 1950s.”

    Keith rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Going to class helps you get a better GPA, or so I’ve heard.”

    “Shut up, gap year!” Nyma laughed, swatting the burritoed boy. “Anyway, you need to wake up and eat something. Colleen sent tomato soup, and you’ll love it.”

    “Hnng!” Keith answered intelligently.

    “I will call Shiro if you don’t listen to me.”

    “I’m up!”

    And that was how to rest of the afternoon progressed.

    After his second nap, Keith felt almost normal. It was past dinner time (he had slept for about ten-ish hours) and he’d kicked Nyma out to go spend time with Rolo or something.

    Which reminded him. He had to text Sendak that he was sick.

    Groaning at the thought of calling his dick of a boss to explain his lateness (and consequent absence) on their busiest night, Keith unfurled from his burrito blanket and reached for his phone. Unceremoniously, he managed to knock it to the floor before grabbing it with the tips of his fingers. Screeching (manly) at blinding light, Keith unlocked his phone to see a text from Rolo.

 

     _Rolo [4:23 p.m.]_

_sup keith B)_

_dis is Rolo frm wrk btw ;)_

_Nyma called & told me u wer sick (vomit emoji) _

_dnt worry bout it, i gotchu covrd_

_get bettr quik, manning the bar alone sux :P_

 

    Keith could feel his cheeks flushing, and it definitely was not due to the quickly-fading fever. Keith shot straight up, realizing that Rolo now had his number. His _phone_ number. _Keith’s_ phone number. As in, Rolo now had the ability to text Keith--should he have the need/want.

    The thing about Rolo, is that Keith was what he believed to be madly in love with his best friend’s best friend. In hindsight Keith knew that it was just an embarrassing crush that has been going on for _way_ too long. But there was just something about him that made Keith’s heart flutter and his cheeks redden under the strobe lights they both work under. He’s known Rolo for almost two years now--having been introduced by Nyma once the both of them moved to Cali for college--and been aware of these feelings for about one.

    While Keith was Nyma’s oldest friend--bonding over a shared hatred for the other orphans that picked on Keith--Rolo was Nyma’s childhood friend from once she got adopted. It was sad to see Nyma move away, but she kept in touch with Keith through letters, and, once they both had access to computers, emails. Although Rolo had technically been a part of their lives since the age of twelve (anything that affected Nyma’s life affected Keith’s and vice versa), Keith and Rolo had only met during Keith’s senior year in high school when the other two moved back to California for university.

    It was thanks to Rolo that Keith landed his bartending job at Balmera. He was technically still seventeen when he began working behind the bar, a month away from being a legal adult. Despite the scholarship, he didn’t want to depend on Shiro (who had become his guardian only three years prior).

    Keith shook away his apprehension and ignored the hammering in his chest. Swallowing thickly, Keith opened up his notes. His first text to Rolo; he was not going to screw that up.

    After spending five minutes retyping similar variations of “ _sure thing, bro_ ”, Keith was interrupted by a loud knock on his door. Whoever it was would not stop, leaving Keith to panic and send a pathetic “ _kk_ ”. (Oh my god--Rolo was going to think of him as _that_ guy!)

    A moment of silence was spent for mourning, before Keith turned a heavy glare at the door. The person was still banging away, now making funky beats.

    “I’ll show you a funky beat,” Keith muttered to himself, wrapping the duvet around him like a scarf.

    On the other side of the door was Lance, in his mouth a thornless red rose. He held a ukulele in one hand and knocked with the other.

    He was about to start strumming, when he realized the bedraggled mess in front of him was a fuming Keith.

    Keith, however, was stunned into silence once again. Of all the things and people he expected in front of him, he didn’t anticipate that. He’d chalk it up to a fever dream the next day, but in the moment he was experiencing what felt like an aneurysm.

    Lance frowned, flipping up the aviators he was wearing--at night--and ripping the rose out from between his teeth. “You’re not Nyma.”

    Keith crossed his arms defensively, quashing down that unexpected inkling of disappointment. “No, dipshit. I am not.”

    Lance levelled his neighbor with a flat stare. “No need to get all _tangled up_ about it, mullet.”

    “Quit calling me mullet,” Keith spat. “Is there anything you want?”

    Lance sighed, that familiar smirk he wears before he says a bad joke reappearing on his face. “There are many things I want, _mullet_. A date with the beautiful Nyma being one of them.”

    “You’d have better luck if you’d just ask her out,” Keith advised genuinely.

    “Puh-lease,” Lance brushed off. “Like that ever works out! This is the twenty-first century, Keith. You gotta have more game than just blunt confidence to woo the ladies!”

    “What game?” Keith retorted, a familiar smirk of his own slipping into place.

    Something changed in Lance’s eyes, and instead of taking the bait Keith thought he would, his smirk only grew larger.

    “Wanna find out?”

    Before Keith could ask what he meant, Lance slipped the rose behind the pale boy’s ear and flipped his aviators into place. Keith blushed in surprise (and only surprise) as Lance began strumming a fast-paced tune Keith didn’t recognize.

    Lance wasn’t actually that bad of a singer. Granted, he probably wouldn’t be able to make a career out of his vocal chords, he was surprisingly good at staying in tune and keeping pace. He sounded like someone you’d hear at karaoke night and politely applause at.

    But that didn’t stop Keith’s heart from fluttering the same way it did when he saw Rolo. Except Keith wasn’t expecting it at all, and so it beat so much louder. The asian boy’s eyes followed his strange neighbor as the latter started bopping along with the song. Keith’s heart stayed erratic until Lance got to the chorus.

    “OH I SWEAR TO YA!” Lance screamed. “I’LL BE THERE FOR YA! THIS IS NOT A DRIVE BY-Y-Y-Y-Y~!”

    Lance’s jerky dancing coupled with his awkward strumming (not that Keith could tell) broke the spell on Keith’s heart. Keith laughed, Lance joining him and screwing up part of the chorus.

    “JUST A SHY GUY, LOOKING FOR A TWO PLY!” Lance belted, tune gone with the chuckles he was trying to suppress. “HEFTY BAG TO HOLD MY-Y-Y-Y-Y LOVE~!”

    “You? Shy?” Keith chuckled, holding his sides.

    A spark gleaned in Lance’s eyes. A mischievous grin took hold of him as he tugged Keith out of his bundle. Tossing his ukulele lightly onto the discarded pile, Lance pulled Keith in and grabbed his waist.

    Keith definitely did not yelp (twice).

    Soon they were sort of dancing as Lance shouted the rest of the lyrics at Keith and Keith half-sputtered half-laughed in Lance’s face.

    “WHEN YOU MOVE ME, EVERYTHING IS GROOVY!” Lance sang, twirling Keith. “THEY DON’T LIKE IT, SUE ME--MMM, THE WAY YOU DO ME!”

    At that Lance winked, dipping Keith slightly. Keith’s heart almost stopped, and his breathing definitely hitched.

    Lance continued the song, ending it after the chorus. Both boys were laughing way too loud and standing way too close but neither moved. Breaths mingled, eyes met, and everything in the universe froze when blue met blue.

    Lance swallowed thickly, and it took Keith every fibre of self control to not glance at his adam’s apple. Keith exhaled slowly, hoping to slow his damn heart.

    And then Lance blinked and the universe swung back into motion. Keith stepped back, coughing to break the intimate silence. Lance followed suit, chuckling lightly and looking away. Both boys reached the back of their respective necks, scratching them nervously, an anxious tell both of them seemed to share.

    “So,” Lance said a little too loudly, “how was my wooing?”

    Punctuated with a familiarly obnoxious eyebrow wiggle, Lance managed to break the awkward tension between them. Keith rolled his eyes, rubbing some warmth into his arms.

    “You’re wooing should be booed,” he replied. “But I am thoroughly entertained. You make quite the good fool.”

    Lance rolled his eyes in return, scoffing dramatically. “That’s how it starts. Just you wait, Kogane. I’ll prove to you that my charms are indelible!”

    “I’d love to see you try!” Keith challenged.

    The moment he said that, he knew he was done for. Lance raised en eyebrow, hand stroking his chin with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

    “Oh really?” Lance asked.

    Keith’s pride wouldn’t let him back down now. “Sure,” he shrugged.

    Lance chuckled mirthlessly. “Alright then. I accept your challenge! Before the New Year, I will have successfully wooed Nyma.”

    Keith blinked, confused at this turn of events. “Um, I’m not wagering my friend, Lance.”

    Lance rolled his eyes. “Chill, McMullet. I’m not going to play her, or anything. I was in the process of wooing her already! I’m just setting a deadline, that’s all!”

    Keith narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “I don’t know…”

    “Trust me,” Lance implored. “I won’t hurt her in any way. And besides! If I do, you get the first shot at me, right after my mother--since she would kill me if I ever even thought about playing with another person’s feelings.”

    Lance extended an arm out, a deal. “What’d you say, Keith?”

    With one last wary look, Keith sighed.

    “Deal,” he said, shaking Lance’s hand.

    “Awesome!” Lance said, raising a fist into the air. “Get ready to be proven wrong, pretty boy!”

    Keith ignored Lance’s taunt, although his face didn’t get the memo. “Whatever, drama queen.”

    Lance stuck his tongue out (maturely) before pausing.

    “Wait a second,” he said, “what do I get if I win?”

    Keith shrugged. “Bragging rights and a girlfriend?”

    Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but what do I get from _you_?”

    Keith raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

    Lance thinks for a moment. As he thinks, Keith takes a moment to drink him in.

    Lance was long. His legs stretched out for miles and his arms fit to match. His face was long and sharp, perfect for a vindictive grin. But despite all the rigid points that made up Lance McClain, there was something about the starlight and the ocean breeze that softened his features, leaving Keith with the image of wistfulness and longing. Whether those feelings were from Lance or of Lance, Keith didn’t know. But he did know that thanks to a stupid bet, regret was going to be his new best friend.

    Keith was jerked out of his gay thoughts when Lance snapped his fingers.

    “I know!” Lance said. “If I win, I get to move in with Nyma!”

    Keith didn’t know if he heard him right. “Wuh--I’m sorry. What?!”  
    “If. I. Win. I. Get. To. Move. In. With. Nyma.”

    “What if she doesn’t want to move in with you?!” Keith spluttered. “What about Hunk?!”

    “That’s part of the challenge, isn’t it?” Lance replied, smirking. “And besides, Hunk’ll probably take that chance to move in with Shay--if he finally asks her out, that is!”

    Keith blinked slowly, his sane thoughts trying to catch up to his pride. Many, many reasons were thrown at him by his conscience--reasons to reconsider. But Keith had already made up his mind.

    “Fine,” he said, nodding. “You can move in with Nyma.”

    “Sweet!” Lance squealed, pumping his fist into the air again. “And what about you?”

    Keith frowned in confusion. “Me?”

    “What do you get if you win?” Lance specified.

    Keith shrugged, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. D’you have any ideas?”

    Lance wagged his finger, shaking his head in time. “Ah, ah, ah! That’s cheating, mullet-man. Anyways, isn’t there anything you’d want from me? I mean, I could always impart my lady-wooing knowledge upon you…”

    Keith ignored the first thoughts that popped up when he thought of what Lance could give him. “The fact that you will lose makes me very confident I won’t be the one needing ‘lady-wooing’ knowledge.”

    Lance rolled his eyes. “We’ll see about that. Anyways, it doesn’t even matter what you pick; I’m gonna win.”

    Keith snorted, rubbing more warmth into his sides as a chill breeze swept his hair aside. “Fine. If you’re so confident you’ll win, then I’ll choose an IOU.”

    Lance chuckled, rubbing his neck--his nervous tell. “An IOU?”

    Keith shrugged, smiling that smug smile he reserved for Shiro when he wins Mario Kart. “Yeah. Like, a favor, if you will. Something reasonable, of course, but something I can cash in whenever--”

    “If you win!”

    “If I win,” Keith sighed. “And you have to deliver. You gonna be okay with that?”

    Lance sneered, a sudden fake confidence taking over his body. “I’ll be fine, Keithy boy! You just worry about finding a new apartment soon!”

    Keith scoffed, which caused Lance to scoff louder, which lead to both of them having an unofficial scoff-off.

    Once their childish antics died down, Lance piped up again.

    “We should set down some ground rules too,” Lance offered. “You know, so neither one of us gets an unfair advantage.”

    “Okay,” Keith agreed. “What were you thinking?”

    “Well,” Lance started, “this bet stays between the two of us. Can’t have people weighing in and helping us.”

    “Alright,” Keith approved. “And Nyma has to give verbal confirmation for you to win.”

    “Deal.” Lance nodded, thinking of any other rules needed. “Also, you have to give me any info, within reason, that I ask of.”

    “And why the hell should I do that?” Keith spluttered. “That would mean helping the enemy. Self-sabotage and all.”

    “Because,” Lance begged, “the point is for me to woo her! If you’re so confident in my inability to seduce the ladies, you should have no problem agreeing!”

    Keith sighed, knowing he was setting himself up for defeat. “Fine, whatever.”

    “And no sabotaging the other!”

    “Wasn’t planning on it, McClain.”

    Lance sized Keith up, looking him up and down, before smirking and offering a fist to bump. “May the best man win?”

    Keith bumped knuckles with him. “May the best man win.”

    “Alright!” Lance chuckled, frowning once he met Keith’s eyes again. “Wait, you look paler than normal. Are you not okay with the bet?”

    Keith shook his head, shivering in the warm night. “No. M’just a little sick. I had a high fever this morning, but it’s almost gone now.”

    Lance frowned at that. Without precedence, he lifted a hand to Keith’s forehead. At Lance’s lack of hesitation and genuine concern, Keith flushed. Luckily, Lance would think it’s because of the fever.

    Damn these pretty boys making Keith turn red with the smallest actions.

    “Well, you’re still pretty warm,” Lance assessed (Keith thanked the heavens he didn’t say hot; Keith’s blush wouldn’t have survived that and he didn’t really want Lance to hold that over him for the rest of their acquaintanceship), “so you should probably go get some rest. Also, Mrs. Holt downstairs has some killer soup if you’re still under the weather tomorrow.”

    “Colleen?” Keith questioned, remembering Nyma force-feeding him that creamy tomato soup.

    “Yeah,” Lance answered, smiling. “But yeah, go sleep mullet. I’ll start kicking your ass tomorrow.”

    “You’re not even getting anywhere near my ass, pretty boy,” Keith replied, hoping that Lance’s previous ‘insult’ came off as such when he used it.

    “Not out of lack of trying, sweetheart,” Lance winked, walking backwards.

     _Damn you, McClain_.

    Keith shook his head, rolling his eyes as he pivoted on spot. He heard Lance unlocking his door as he closed his own, desperately willing his cheeks to go pale like the rest of his body.

    Keith reached over to pick up his discarded duvet, when he realized he still had Lance’s ukulele.

    Forgetting the blanket, Keith picked up the acoustic instrument with gentle hands. Keith’s mind was already racing, and he knew that no matter how much Lance insisted, he would definitely be able to fall asleep any time soon.

    Holding the uke in one hand and dragging his blanket behind him, Keith went back to his room. Popping a painkiller for his headache and wrapping his thick blanket around his shoulders, Keith pulled out his laptop.

    A few minutes later, he had managed to reverse search the song using the lyrics he remembered and already downloaded it on Spotify. Cradling the uke in one hand, Keith clicked on the first ukulele for beginners tutorial he found on YouTube.

    When Nyma found him at two a.m., strumming familiar chords and cursing his soon-to-be calloused fingers, she didn’t even mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I just wanna apologize for making this late! My excuse is that Vegas was so dope I needed time to recover. But yeah! Anyway, I made this chapter longer to make up for it lol (it's the longest so far). Also, I hit 10K words for this fic! I've never written so much in so little time, so yes! It's an achievement! Because I haven't accomplished much! Yeah! Also, we hit 200 hits the other day (I was refreshing it every hour over shitty hotel wifi after I saw it at 198) and I cannot be happier! Also, I am loving all the comments and kudos--whether you're a guest or a user! But yeah! 
> 
> Anyways, thanks to my babe [writing_shark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_shark) for betaing my mess (send her virtual chocolate; she deserves it)! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated and encouraged! Also, let me know if I should add more tags or trigger warnings or anything of the such! Help me keep this place safe and welcome to all! 
> 
> Thanks and I'll stop now before this gets too long! Night!


	5. Unrequited Work Crushes are The Worst™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rolo caught his sour look, bopping the paler boy under the chin and smiling. “Hey, Keith, don’t worry your head over all this stuff, though. It’s still unofficial and only a rumor.”
> 
> Keith then realized that he was still close to Rolo, the other’s lips near his ear. His breath shifted the loose strands of Keith’s hair, causing them to leave tiny grazes of feather-light touches. Keith’s eyes widened involuntarily before he cleared his throat to reply to Rolo (and save some dignity).
> 
> “If you say so,” Keith said softly, his voice awkwardly breathy and dry.
> 
> Rolo smiled in answer and backed off after a blink. Spotting an empty glass and its beseeching owner, Rolo quickly excused himself from their little conversation circle. As soon as his attention was directed elsewhere, Keith groaned into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe so this is late.... check the notes after the chap for my excuses lol

Keith was back to feeling better after a two-day break from work (which he totally did not spend playing a certain brown-haired neighbor’s ukulele).

    Luckily it was Sunday, a relatively slow day at Balmera and a shorter shift. Keith texted Rolo in advance, ignoring the flutter in his chest at the sight of his newest contact. Setting his phone down, Keith finished buttoning up his black work shirt. He didn’t really have much of a uniform other than as much black as possible with little-to-no branding. Once, he was caught wearing his minimalistic MCR shirt with the words “Thank You for the Venom” printed in a small font on the breast pocket by Sendak while he was in one of his moods. That night, Keith was cut from his tips. So, the Asian boy’s been wary ever since.

    Keith rolled up his sleeves, knowing that they would eventually end up that way, before attempting to wrangle his hair into a semblance of intended disarray. Having no luck, Keith sighed and tied it up into a tiny ponytail at the base of his neck, ignoring the bangs that would fall in his face.

    Grabbing his phone and wallet, Keith exited the bathroom to find Nyma dressed up and waiting for him on the couch.

    Keith raised an eyebrow at her, grabbing her car keys from the table.

    “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked innocently.

    Nyma stood up, dusting herself off just as innocently. “Don’t you need a ride to work?”

    Keith shrugged. “Well yeah. But you gave me your keys and permission so I thought I was going to be driving.”

    Nyma smirked. “That was my intention. But Carly from Broadcasting 121 heard from Chelsea that Professor Werths was sick and that he wouldn’t be able to make it to any of his classes tomorrow--including my only morning class tomorrow.”

    “So you’re going to tag along?” Keith replied, making his way to the door with Nyma right behind him.

    “Yup!” Nyma affirmed as her roommate slipped his feet into his worn sneakers.

    “Alright,” Keith sighed, opening the door for her. “But my shift ends at one tonight. And I’ll have to clean up so that’ll take some more time.”

    Nyma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah! I’ll get Rolo to give me a ride if I wanna leave early.”

    Keith nodded, locking the door to their apartment and following her to the parking lot behind their building. There weren’t many spaces for cars, only ten at most, but Nyma’s red convertible seemed ostentatious enough to fill all of them.

    Nyma signaled for her keys and Keith threw them to her over the hood, sliding into the passenger seat.

    The drive was mostly spent in silence as Nyma’s choice radio station blared some pop song that Keith only heard on the dancefloor.

    “You should tie it higher,” Nyma said once they were at a red light.

    “Hm?” Keith questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

    “Your ponytail,” Nyma answered, reaching over and pulling it out with the one hand as the other stayed on the wheel.

    “Both hands on the wheel, shit nugget!” Keith panicked, shoving her hand away from his head.

    “Oh please,” Nyma scoffed. “We’re at a red light that just turned. Now turn your head.”

    Keith reluctantly obeyed, watching out of the corner of his eye for any sign of traffic change.

    Keith felt Nyma’s long fingernails comb haphazardly through his tangled mane a little, before grabbing his unruly bangs. He could feel the cool breeze of the airconditioners on his neck as Nyma tied his hair up. Once she was satisfied with the back, she turned him around by the chin. Tilting his face up, Nyma began pulling random single strands around his face.

    “Uh,” Keith interjected, “wasn’t the point of a ponytail keep my hair out of my face?”

    Nyma hummed, responding only once she was done. “Yes, but I’m just pulling a few to make it seem messy.”

    “Won’t it get messy anyway?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then why don’t I just wait until then?”

    Nyma rolled her eyes, accelerating as she caught sight of the green light. “It’s also to frame your face and make it look effortless.”

    Keith shrugged, giving up his confusion. “Okay, then.”

    Nyma chuckled, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “You’ll learn someday, young padawan.”

    “Sure thing, weirdo,” Keith retorted.

    Nyma groaned. “Ugh! No, Keith! You’re supposed to call me Yoda and actually get that reference!”

    Keith laughed lightly, already attuned to his lack of 21st-century knowledge. “You expect too much of me, Yoda.”

    “Make you watch Star Wars again, I should,” Nyma muttered, chuckling at Keith’s confusion at her sentence structure.

    “Another Star Wars reference?” he asked.

    “Yes.”

    “Cool.”

    The conversation fizzled out as they pulled up in front of the entrance. Once exited, Keith waited for Nyma to pass her keys to the valet before following Keith. At the doors stood Rax and a newbie that Keith was not familiar with.

    “Hey Rax,” Keith said, nodding in what he hopes was a bro way. “Slow night?”

    Eyeing the nonexistent line, Rax grunted. “Nah! I’m having the time of my life, waiting in front of an empty queue, unable to end my shift until midnight.”

    Keith grimaced at Rax’s harsh sarcasm. Rax was usually grumpy about something or the other, but Sundays put a damper on everyone’s mood. The lack of people truly did suck the excitement of the job. Nyma produced her ID and was let in, waving at Keith as she disappeared amongst the bodies and lights.

    “I’ll make sure to get you something when there’s a lull at the bar, man,” Keith promised, clapping his co-worker on the shoulder as he headed inside.

    Despite it being a Sunday and the lack of line outside, there was a decent turn up that night. Keith had to maneuver around the throng of bad dancers to get to the bar on the other side of the club.

    It was only ten o’clock, but the early closing time only spurred people on. Rolo and Shay, one of the only other bartenders Keith could remember the name of, were too busy serving the night’s patrons to pay him any attention. Keith hopped over the bar near the end, not bothering with the actual entrance as it was being occupied by some girls giggling way too loudly. At the movement, Rolo began to walk over, realized it was just Keith, and went back to mixing some guy’s drink. Grabbing a company-regulated apron from the cubby under the bar, Keith tied it around his waist and got right to tending to the customers.

    Around eleven o’clock was when people migrated to the dance floor. Beezer always played their own electronic dance mixes to give the rest of the staff a little break.

    Keith let out a breath once the bar thinned out. One or two stragglers were still nursing their drinks, but they seemed content enough. Keith took this lapse to scan the dance floor for his roommate. He hadn’t served her a drink, but Nyma was hardly the type to stay sober at a place like this. Despite all three bartenders knowing she wasn’t twenty-one yet, she probably mooched a drink off someone or other and Keith wanted to make sure she was okay.

    He was in the middle of this when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

    Snapping his gaze to the dark skin of the hand gripping shoulder, Keith trailed his gaze until the hand connected to an arm, which in turn connected to a body. Keith looked up and found himself looking at Rolo’s familiar face.

    “Hey buddy. I already clocked you in for tonight, by the way,” he said, dropping his hand from Keith’s shoulder. “You feeling better?”

    Keith coughed, hoping the heat from the club was not fueling his blush. “Y-yeah! Uh, thanks for bailing me out with Sendak.”

    Rolo smirked, crossing his arms over his tight (dark) gray shirt. “No problem, dude. I doubt he even noticed you were gone, but I made sure he didn’t check up. He, uh, doesn’t really like you too much.”

    Keith rolled his eyes in agreement, huffing as he absently wiped a glass--anything to not have to stare into those dark brown eyes for too long. “That’s an understatement.”

    Rolo chuckled, grabbing another glass and rag to help Keith. “Well, you win some, you lose some.”

    Keith nodded, not knowing how to continue the conversation. Luckily, Shay came over and he was saved from the trouble of creating small talk with his crush.

    “Keith!” she exclaimed, her voice exuding happiness. “I did not see you enter! How are you feeling?”

    “I’m much better now, Shay. Thanks for asking,” Keith replied, accepting her side hug graciously.

    “That is very good to hear,” she reiterated. “Lotor is not a very good replacement.”

    Rolo scoffed. “That’s putting it lightly! The guy sucks ass!”

    Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Lotor? I don’t think I’ve met him…”

    Rolo scoffed. “Lucky you. I work some weekday shifts with him and I swear that he’s driving away the business!”

    Keith frowned at that. “Driving away business? What does he do?”

    Rolo was fuming, unlikely to provide an unbiased response, so Keith directed the question to his other co-worker.

    Shay blushed uncomfortably, facing shifting to a rare expression of disgust. “Lotor, uh, likes to make advances on our patrons--particularly the women. He can come off a bit, um, strong, I would say. It does not please him to be rejected, as well, which sometimes complicates situations to escalation.”

    Rolo cut her off before she could say anything else. “Oh please, Shay! Don’t even try to downplay that creep. He’s a little fucker who thinks, because his daddy owns a bunch of establishments in town, that he can act however he likes and get whoever he wants. Ugh! He’s so leery and disgusting.”

    Keith frowns, not out of confusion but second-hand hatred. “Why does Sendak keep him if he’s driving customers away?”

    At this, Rolo seemed to calm down, face paling slightly. “Uh…”

    Keith merely put down his glass and turned his full attention to him.

    Rolo sighed, pulling Keith a little closer so he wasn’t speaking as loudly. “Okay, so, rumor has it that the Balmera is being bought out by Galra Enterprises. Nothing’s confirmed yet, but I’ve heard from a bunch of higher-ups that the Galra are going to take over from the inside soon enough. The name and brand will be the same on the outside, but for all legal and commercial purposes, GE will have full control. Mr. Zarkon, the CEO, already met up with Sendak a few weeks ago--which is when I assume he bought him off. After that, it wasn’t hard to buy his son a job here and ensure his permanence.”

    Keith frowned, the thought of this disgusting Lotor and his family taking control of Balmera leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

    Rolo caught his sour look, bopping the paler boy under the chin and smiling. “Hey, Keith, don’t worry your head over all this stuff, though. It’s still unofficial and only a rumor.”

    Keith then realized that he was still close to Rolo, the other’s lips near his ear. His breath shifted the loose strands of Keith’s hair, causing them to leave tiny grazes of feather-light touches. Keith’s eyes widened involuntarily before he cleared his throat to reply to Rolo (and save some dignity).

    “If you say so,” Keith said softly, his voice awkwardly breathy and dry.

    Rolo smiled in answer and backed off after a blink. Spotting an empty glass and its beseeching owner, Rolo quickly excused himself from their little conversation circle. As soon as his attention was directed elsewhere, Keith groaned into his hands.

    Shay patted him on the back, a knowing, sympathetic look on her face. “Why do you not just tell Rolo?”

    “I can’t, Shay!” Keith squealed, the thought of confessing his weird crush on Rolo leaving him quaking in his sneakers. “Besides, it’s just a crush. And also, he’d never like me back--”

    “--Keith…”

    “--And also, he’s probably straight--”

    “--You do not know for sure!--”

    “--And besides! It’ll go away in a while…”

    Shay, her knowing look intensifying, tilted Keith’s gaze up to meet hers. “It has already been a long while, Keith. Something great may happen if you just trust Rolo and ask him out on a--”

    “I’m sorry, Shay,” Keith cut her off. “I understand everything you’re saying, but I’m fine with this right now. I’m not looking for a relationship, despite this stupid crush. Thanks, but no thanks.”

    Shay sighed, dropping her pitiful and knowing look. “If you say so,” she echoed, causing Keith to almost smile.

    Keith turned back to the bar, fixing up a drink for Rax. Shay excused herself to attend to a couple a couple feet away. Keith nodded, saying that he was going to step out for some fresh air and to give her brother a reason to not blow a fuse. Shay chuckled and bid him a temporary farewell.

    Balancing a tall glass of strong alcohol whilst weaving through a sweaty, uncoordinated crowd of intoxicated people was a skill Keith wished he had honed more. He had arrived at the entrance (the opposite side of the floor) with a nearly full glass and minimal scathing. Knocking the door out of habit, Keith stepped out into the cool night.

    Rax was leaning his head against the wall, sat in the uncomfortable chair he was allowed when there was no line.

    He opened his shut eyes when he heard Keith shuffle in front of him. He eyed the tall glass, grunting a thank you as he took it from Keith. The newbie had already left, leaving only Rax and Keith at that moment.

    They shared a silence, only broken by the loud music coming from inside the building behind them. Keith leaned against the building on the opposite side of the door as Rax.

    Sighing, he raised his eyes from the unlit neon signs of the shops in front of him to the iridescent sky above him. There weren’t many visible stars, but the nearby ocean seemed to beckon their glow. The stars seemed to wink back at him, promising him an easy night. Keith smiled, the soft part of his mind wondering who else might be looking at these exact stars and seeing the same thing.

    Letting out a final breath, Keith bid Rax a good night and headed back inside for the rest of his shift.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Yes, this is very, super, utterly late. I had a week long theatre camp and then Friday was performance day so I didn't have the time or drive to write and honestly, I was really stumped about what to write next (this is a practice fic in the sense that I only have a basic outline of what I want to do but I don't have a map of how to get there because this was supposed to be a get-back-into-writing thing). So yeah. But thanks to everyone who left a kudos or a comment or even checked this out. Everytime I get an email regarding this fic it literally lifts my heart. Also, if you liked or disliked things or want to see things happen please let me know because, like I said, I have a lot of empty spaces for this. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are encouraged and appreciated (I feed off your attention, guys)! 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [writing_shark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_shark) for betaing this and keeping me writing when I thought I should stop!
> 
> Hopefully, I can get the next chapter of this up on time or even earlier! Have a great time of day!
> 
> (Come help me scream niceties to the void on Tumblr: [@youraveragemushroom](youraveragemushroom.tumblr.com))


	6. Long Nights Only Get Longer If You’re Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance smacked his hand into the bar in excitement, gaining Keith’s attention. “What are you doing here?”
> 
> “Uh, I work here?” Keith said questioningly.
> 
> “But you’re not twenty-one,” Lance retorted.
> 
> “And how would you know?”
> 
> “I, uh, wouldn’t actually know. I’ve just assumed you were my age up until now.”
> 
> “Does that mean you’re in a club that serves mostly alcoholic beverages, underage?”
> 
> “C’mon. More than half of the crowd comes from the Garrison, and only, like, six percent of them are old enough.”
> 
> “Yeah, but none of them are stupid enough to admit it.”

It was nearing eleven fifteen, and people were starting to come back to the bar.

     Keith hurried back, sliding behind Rolo to attend to two customers who seemed to be patiently waiting for one of them to engage.

     Keith rubbed his eyes, wishing he had his glasses. He only wore them on the rare occasion that he ran out of his contacts, but the irritation was almost enough for him to ditch them and go in blind (alright, not totally blind, but blurry enough to be disorienting in a nightclub).

     Shaking his head, Keith put on his friendliest face to greet his customers.

     “What can I get y’all?” he asked with as much cheer as he could muster.

     “KEITH?!” one of them exclaimed obnoxiously.

     At the stranger’s sudden outburst, a few people turned to glance curiously at Keith. Keith, at the sudden outburst, jumped, before adjusting his eyes on the new person.

     “Lance?” he said incredulously (at a normal decibel).

     “Yeah!” the man in front of Keith confirmed. “What a small world, huh?”

     Keith nodded, a funny feeling washing over him. “I guess. Hey, Hunk, by the way.”

     The second customer, who Keith now recognized as his saner neighbor, smiled at his recognition. “Hey man!”

     Lance smacked his hand into the bar in excitement, gaining Keith’s attention. “What are you doing here?”

     Keith quirked an eyebrow at Lance’s obliviousness, muffling his growing chuckles. The latter continued to stare at him imploringly.

     “Uh, I work here?” Keith said questioningly. He didn’t know why it came out that way, but it did.

     “But you’re not twenty-one,” Lance retorted, leaning further towards the bartender.

     Keith rolled his eyes, the familiar banter-filled atmosphere setting in. “And how would you know?”

     Lance was about to reply with some smartass comment, when he realized he actually didn’t know if Keith was twenty-one or not.

     “I, uh, wouldn’t actually know,” he replied in an uncharacteristically gracious way. “I’ve just assumed you were my age up until now.”

     Keith frowned, wondering if Lance trusted him or if he was just too stupid to realize what he just admitted to the man serving him drinks.

     “Does that mean you’re in a club that serves mostly alcoholic beverages, underage?”

     Lance rolled his eyes at that. “C’mon. More than half of the crowd comes from the Garrison, and only, like, six percent of them are old enough.”

     “Yeah, but none of them are stupid enough to admit it,” Keith huffed.

     “Maybe. But you still haven’t answered my question, mullet-man” Lanced scoffed.

     “I told you to stop calling me that!”

     Lance chuckled, gleeful in the fact that he had successfully riled Keith up. “No, I distinctly remember ignoring that.”

     “Well maybe you should remember it this time. It’s. Not. A. Mullet.”

     Lance stroked his chin, exaggeratedly thoughtful. “We’ll see…”

     Keith sighed, knowing that was as good as he’d get.

     “...mullet,” Lance finished.

     Keith openly glared at the brown-haired little turd. “You little--”

     He was about to tell Lance exactly what he thought of him, when Shay interrupted him.

     “Hello,” she directed at Lance and Hunk. “My name is Shay. Is there anything you both would like to order tonight?”

     Keith used Shay’s obvious interruption to glare at Lance, all-the-while calming down internally.

     “J-just a Sprite for me,” Hunk stuttered, lifting his arm to display the designated-driver band. “I’m driving tonight.”

     Shay smiled, blushing to match Hunk’s flustering. “How kind! One Sprite, coming up!”

     With that, she grabbed a can from the mini-fridge below the bar, wiping away the condensation before placing it before Hunk. Their hands grazed as Hunk grabbed it, causing the both of them to fumble with it. Shay giggled nervously while Hunk fiddled with the tab on his can.

     Keith, having cooled down thanks to Shay’s intervention, turned back to Lance with a neutral expression. “What would you like, Lance?”

     “A strawberry daiquiri and a reason why you work here,” he said stubbornly.

     Keith rolled his eyes and ignored the latter part of Lance’s request, grabbing the shaker and filling it with the necessary ingredients.

     Hunk and Shay continued with their conversation, their soft laughter drowned out by the bassline. Lance continued to stare at Keith, attempting to intimidate him into answering his question.

     “You know,” Keith started as he shook the concoction, “I could turn you in right now for ordering an alcoholic drink with a fake ID.”

     “But you won’t,” Lance shrugged, smirking in that way that Keith despised--like he knew something he didn’t.

     Keith frowned. “And what makes you so sure?”

     Lance’s smirk grew as he propped his elbows on the counter separating them. “Because you would have done that already, if you were going to.”

     Keith averted his narrowed gaze on the glass he was pouring Lance’s drink into. “I could hold it over you as leverage.”

     “But you have no reason to,” Lance countered. “I’m an open book, my dude! Ask away and I will overshare.”

     Keith didn’t know how to one-up that. He slid Lance’s drink to him in an open invitation to end the conversation, watching as he took the first sip. The tension he didn’t know Lance held melted away from his shoulders as the first taste of the fruity alcohol touched his taste buds. Watching Lance was an experience that Keith knew was dangerous for his resident nonchalance. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Lance’s expressions slowed as the liquid hit his system.

     Before Lance caught him staring, Keith left to attend to another customer, bidding his neighbors a quick goodbye.

     He stayed away from the duo, using the distance and time to reassess his emotions. The beat pounding in time with his pulse, Keith robotically served people for another half an hour.

     During a lull in the constant stream of customers, his eyes met Nyma’s across the dance floor. She was dancing with a stranger over a foot taller than her and seemed to be having an okay time. Keith nodded towards her partner and raised an eyebrow, a silent question playing out between them. Nyma shrugged subtly in response, before choosing to excuse herself from his company.

     Dancing and weaving her way through the throngs of sweaty people, she finally made her way to the bar. Keith was ready with her usual drink in hand.

     “Not your type?” he asked, gesturing to her previous dance partner, who was now dancing with a guy in the tightest jeans Keith had ever seen.

     Nyma shrugged, sipping her tequila sunrise. “Wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

     Keith nodded, resting his elbows on the counter next to Nyma. “Okay.”

     “Anything interesting happen on that side of the bar?” she asked him, angling her body towards Keith.

     Keith shrugged, picking at a dried stain on the counter. “Not really. Apparently, my replacement was a dick.”

     Nyma smirked. “More than you? Wow, what a guy he must be.”

     Keith rolled his eyes, mirroring Nyma’s amusement. “I know, right? Some guy named Lotor. Rumor has it his dad’s trying to buy the place.”

     Nyma wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That would suck major balls. I fucking love the Balmeras!”

     “Ditto,” Keith agreed. “It’s just a rumor though, so I’m not too worried.”

     Nyma shrugged. “If you say so.” She took a sip through the tiny straw, eyeing the crowd for another potential dance partner. “See anyone worth dancing with?”

     Before Keith could think of a response, a familiar warm body sidled up next to his.

     “Hey, Nyma bean! When’d you get here?” Rolo greeted happily.

     Nyma grumbled at the insufferable nickname while Rolo nudged Keith playfully. The two guys chuckled at that, before Nyma herself joined them with a sigh.

     “I drove Keith here since Kitty Red--”

     “--her name is--”

     “--is still in the shop,” she finished. “Decided to wait before I subjected myself to your face.”

     Rolo rolled his eyes. “You know you love this face.”

     “Debatable,” Nyma retorted. “Depends if you’re buying me a drink tonight.”

     Keith rolled his eyes at that. “Please. As if you need help weaseling drinks out of men.”

     Nyma shrugged, her gaze passing over the room. “A smart girl won’t pass up an opportunity to mooch off free drinks and discounts off her bartending friends.”

     “Friends?” Rolo asked rhetorically. “Why, I thought you wanted to wait a while before you subjected yourself to this face!”

     “Shut up and get me my usual while I finish whatever this is,” Nyma ordered, examining her nails haughtily.

     Rolo rolled his eyes, bowing excessively. “Whatever you say, your highness.”

     As Rolo went to get the ingredients for Nyma’s Long Island Iced Tea, Lance (sans Hunk) slid into the empty seat next to Nyma.

     “Funny coincidence, meeting you here,” he said, a wicked smirk on his face.

     Nyma turned coolly, taking her sweet time before she met Lance’s cheeky gaze.

     “Absolutely hilarious,” she replied, downing the rest of her drink in one go. “Didn’t think you were old enough to come to Balmera.”

     Lance didn’t let that comment visibly phase him (although Keith did take note of his straighter spine and taller posture). “I’m about as likely to come here as you are, sweetheart. How’s Chelsea from freshman broadcasting?”

     Nyma chuckled, her lazy gaze sharpening. “Touche, McClain. Come here alone tonight?”

     Knowing where these kinds of conversations usually lead when Nyma and alcohol were involved, Keith politely departed. The night was still too young for Keith’s comfort and he decided he’d salvage what he could of the miniscule crowd of drinkers and hope his tips are worth it. Yeah, not because Nyma flirting with Lance made him feel queasy in a way he didn’t understand.

     A quick glance down the bar affirmed his suspicions about Hunk and Shay as he saw them leaning close over the bar in order to laugh at each others’ jokes in the loud room. On his other side, Rolo was chatting with a group of regulars, a young bunch mainly consisting of girls.

     Keith grabbed an empty tray and left the safety of the bar to go collect the empty glasses that somehow ended up in the weirdest of places even though the club has a strict glass-return policy. By the time he completed his rounds, the bar was a little bit emptier and the night was a lot more older.

     With it technically being an hour and fifteen minutes into Monday already, most of the patrons were gone, only evidenced by the empty glasses and stained countertops.

     Nyma and Lance were right where Keith had left them, he noticed, as his eyes were drawn to them immediately. The only evidence of passage of time was that Nyma was slowly sliding out of her chair, kept from falling only by Lance’s awkward hold on her waist. She didn’t even seem to notice his weak attempts to put her back in her seat without touching her more than necessary. Nyma was just as oblivious to Lance’s uncharacteristic silence, as she babbled semi-coherently a mile a minute.

     “And then,” Nyma choked out, laughing at a joke she hadn’t even made yet, “Joanne just fucking gets up and leaves! Right in the middle of the fucking argument! Like, can you even believe her?! Like, omg--she better fucking, like--she gonna get what’s--I’m gonna cut a bitch--that’s her! She’s the bitch that--that I’m gonna cut! With a knife! Yeah, like, with a sharp knife that--that’ll fucking hurt like a bitch! A bitch like Joanne! Yeah! Ugh, I can’t even belie--!”

     That’s when Lance met Keith’s curious gaze. Once he realized his frantic gaze had caught someone’s attention, it was like Keith couldn’t look away.

     “Help me!” Lance whispered loudly, to Nyma’s complete obliviousness.

     Deciding to practice a little bit of humanity, Keith decided to humor him.

     “Hey Nyma,” he said loudly, snapping her out of another nonsensical rant. “It’s time to go home. You ready?”

     Nyma shook her head at that, dropping herself back into her seat. Lance leaned back once he realized she wasn’t on the verge of falling out of her chair. The drunk girl put her head in her hands and slowly let her elbows slide out from beneath her until her face was uncomfortably squished against the bar.

     “Eh dnn wnna gsheee hee,” the drunkard in question said(?).

     Keith raised an eyebrow, not used to this kind of drunk Nyma. “What?”

     Nyma raised her head, letting Keith see her smudged makeup and full-forced pout. “I said,” she overly-enunciated, “I. Don’t. Wanna. Go. To. Sleeeep, Keith!!!!!!”

     Rolo, who had been disinfecting and wiping down the empty tables, joined the trio from the patron side of the bar. “What’s going on over here?”

     Before Keith could reply Nyma turned to fast into Rolo’s chest and yelled “I’M FUCKING WASTED!” into his shirt.

     Rolo rolled his eyes at Nyma’s antics, but the raised eyebrow he shot Keith affirmed the latter’s suspicion of this being something more serious than normal.

     “Hey, Nyma,” Rolo called, pulling her up and letting her lean against him, “let’s go home and lie down somewhere.”

     “But I’m not done drinking, Rolo!” Nyma whined, attempting to grab her basically empty glass. Keith coolly slid it out of her reach, giving her a look when she tried glaring at him.

     “You can drink all the water you want when we’re home, dude,” he reassured, untying his apron with his free hand.

     “Does water have alcohol in it?” Nyma asked excitedly.

     “It’s harder than vodka, my dude,” Rolo replied with a smile. Then, he turned to Keith. “You mind if I take her home tonight?”

     Keith shook his head, knowing that Rolo was better than he was at dealing with drunk Nyma. “If she’s okay with it. Are you taking her car?”

     “Probably. I’d rather leave my pick-up than her convertible. You gonna be able to get a ride?”

     “I’ll think of something,” Keith reassured, grabbing Rolo’s jacket from under the counter. “Text me when y’all get home, and tell her to call me in the morning.”

     “Will do,” Rolo said, accepting the jacket and farewell. “See ya, Keith.”

     “Bye Rolo,” Keith said evenly, sending the back of Nyma’s head one last worried look.

     With only him, Shay, Beezer and Rax left to clean up, Keith almost forgot about a certain blue-eyed boy.

     “So,” Lance drew out, “will she be okay?”

     “Nyma? Yeah, I think so,” Keith said, not sounding as confident as his words should’ve warranted.

     “And Rolo…”

     “He’ll make sure she’s okay,” Keith reassured. “Rolo’s a good guy. And he’s known Nyma for almost as long as I have, so I trust him.”

     “Okay,” Lance affirmed, perking up a bit.

     He left Keith alone as he methodically swept and wiped down any surface that wasn’t taken care of by someone else. By the time he threw his rag into the growing pile of laundry-bound cloths under the bar, he had forgotten that Lance hadn’t left.

     He met Lance’s eyes as he stood up from under the bar, the taller boy having gravitated to directly stand in front of him, startling Keith ever-so-slightly.

     “Ready to go?” he asked, hands tucked into pockets.

     Keith frowned, not understanding what he was referring to. “Go where?”

     “Home?” Lance answered slowly, raising an eyebrow.

     That’s when Keith remembered that he needed a ride. “Shit, I don’t have a ride.”

     Lance rolled his eyes at that, huffing what was almost an endearing chuckle. “Yeah you do, dummy. He’s standing right in front of you wearing the most dazzling smile known to have ever existed.”

     Keith blinked as Lance gave his most obnoxious smile, disbelief and fatigue setting in. “You heard that?”

     “Well, you guys were standing right in front of me,” he shrugged. “So you coming, or not?”

     Keith was about to accept, before he realized Hunk wasn’t with them. “Where’s Hunk?”

     Lance chuckled at that, shifting his eyes to the door as if Hunk would pop in at the mention of his name. “He and Shay were talking about this new midnight exhibit at the Natural History Museum downtown and how if they left as soon as her shift ended they might be able to catch the tail-end of it. He left me his keys, though.”

     Keith nodded, before squinting at his neighbor suspiciously. “Wait. You drank tonight. You’re not driving.”

     Lance pouted at this, crossing his arms like a child. “I only had, like, two drink! And that was over an hour ago! They were fruity things, with more sugar than alcohol! I’m perfectly capable of driving us back to the apartme--”

     “No,” Keith cut him off.

     “But--”

     “No.”

     “...bu--”

     “No!” Keith reiterated. “I’m not letting you drive us. I don’t care if you had drank the entire bar of if you just tasted some wine sauce--you are not getting behind the wheel!”

     “Well then how do you suppose we get home?!”

     Ten minutes later, after having thoroughly locked the building and double checking each time, Keith found himself sitting next to Lance, the former in the driver’s seat and the latter pouting in the passenger’s.

     After complaining to Keith about how he’s fiiine and that he was perfectly capable of driving us home and that Hunk’s jeep was super tough on the off chance that we do crash--the last comment finally causing Keith to tell Lance to “shut the fuck up and give me the keys”.

     The car was silent as they headed back to their apartment complex. Lance, busy giving Keith a well-deserved (in his opinion) silent treatment, looked impossibly soft and serene under the lights of late-night establishments and made Keith want to glimpse at him from more than just the corner of his eye. Stop lights were the worst that night since his addled brain kept asking him to give into temptation and just look at the annoyingly pretty boy sat in the passenger seat next to him. He knew, in theory, that Lance wasn’t ugly. But when the night bleeds into morning and Keith is coming off of a long day of non-stop work, boys like Lance seem to be the North Star upon which he needs to recalibrate every now and then.

     They were more than halfway back, the sound of soft rock filling the silence between them, when Lance decided to forget about the silent treatment he was fixed on giving Keith.

     “You never answered my question,” he mused as the last stop light they needed to pass turned green.

     “Which one?” Keith asked, only sparing his conversation partner a glance to know he was in a sober mood.

     “Why do you work at a bar?”

     “Why do you care?”

     At that Lance paused. “I actually don’t know. I like respecting people's boundaries when getting to know them, but you being a stubborn ass somehow makes me wanna know even more. Enlighten me.”

     “Because Rolo got me the job.”

     “But this isn’t the only job you work at.”

     “No,” Keith confirms, not asking how he knew. Call it an educated guess, but Lance seemed to have a knack for just knowing things.

     Lance finally turned to him, an uncharacteristic expression on his face. “Why do you work two jobs?”

     “To keep busy,” Keith answered truthfully. If he was being honest, he didn’t need to take on as many hours as he did. But the hours he works are hours that he chose. 

     Lance hummed, training his eyes on the tired boy’s face. “Is that it?”

     Keith glanced at Lance’s contemplative look. He looked like he was solving a Rubik’s Cube--serious, but only just so.

     “To not be alone.”

     Neither boy said anything the rest of the way back. A mutual, silent agreement of comfortable silence fell on them, as they realized that they may have miscalculated the other enigma of a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crickets chirping*
> 
> so, uh hey? i have no excuses really, other than the fact that i kept rereading this fic and kept cringing because idk i feel like my writing isn't good enough but like that's everyone right? i actually had half of this chapter written and just abandoned. i didn't even think i was going to come back and continue this. but then out of the blue i get an email saying someone commented on my fic and like this rush of energy (kinda like what i imagine quintessence to be like) surged through me and i wrote the rest of this chapter in one sitting? crazy what my attention-hoe self will do at the expense of praise.
> 
> so, this is very unedited and probably full of plotholes since it's been like, what, over 8 months since i updated? maybe like over three months since i last even read what i wrote. also i come back to this fic with new ideas occasionally, but then i realize i already set things up in a certain way and have to fix it to that and just its a weird spot my dudes (if you're still reading this sleep deprived rant kudos to you man!).
> 
> anyway, i started writing this a long time ago, before seasons three four and (now) five even came out, and so my characterization is probably ooc (even if you disregard any and all character development anyone has gone through) and cringey so i apologize for that.
> 
> also if you want to have a good laugh just look at the difference between this author's note and the previous one lol i just burst out laughing cause i checked it to see how i formatted my author's notes and yeah nope im too tired to go back and format this. 
> 
> anyway, thank you to anyone who has stumbled upon this fic some way or another and an extra thank you to people who kudos (finger gun at you) or comment (aggressively finger guns at you) (if you do both you get to witness me suffer from carpel tunnel syndrome from finger gunning too hard at you cause damn, y'all are the true mvps).
> 
> um, this got long but yeah. 
> 
> tl;dr: sorry for taking so long, i have no excuses other than being unfortunately human and having no faith in myself.


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